


the storm

by lilabut



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Childbirth, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Language, F/M, Light Angst, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:58:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 68,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8895637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: When a pregnant woman moves in next door, the last thing Daryl expects is for his life to be turned upside down.





	1. moving day

_Ya gotta be shittin' me_ , Daryl grunts to himself as he pulls up to his house, a small rental moving truck parked right in his parking spot by the sidewalk. Not that it's actually _his_ parking spot – it's just the damn road, after all – but he's been parking his truck there every damn day for the past four years. It's _his_.

 

Stopping his truck a little further down the sidewalk, he kills the engine. He'd figured that the Blake bastard finally sold the house next door when the _FOR SALE_ sign disappeared from the front lawn a few weeks ago. He eyes the truck, the back door open, revealing a few cardboard boxes, small pieces of furniture – a coffee table, a plush, deep red armchair, a huge lamp that looks like someone snatched it up from a yard sale.

 

Sighing, Daryl climbs out of his truck, the fall air crisp as he slams the door shut. A few fallen leafs crush under the weight of his boots, and he can hear the Grimes kid bawling across the street. The front door of the old Blake house is wide open, more boxes stacked up on the front porch. Not in the mood for smalltalk, he marches up the sidewalk and over the unkempt front lawn of his own place when he spots his new neighbor.

 

She looks around his age, her auburn hair cropped short but curling slightly as it begins to grow out. Her pale skin is covered in freckles – a last memento of the quickly fading summer – and a rosy glow tints her cheeks. Her jeans are bunches up to mid calf, revealing pale ankles that peak out from her plain sneakers. The mossy green blouse she's wearing dips a little low as she bends to pick up a cardboard box and-

 

 _Fuckin' hell,_ Daryl mutters to himself. She's pregnant. Very pregnant. Her shirt hugs the swell of her stomach, and her strained breathing carries all the way across the lawn. Cursing silently, Daryl marches over towards her. _Ya need some help with that?_

 

She looks up in surprise, holding the box in front of her. _Oh, that would be so nice of you,_ she huffs, smiling at him kindly. He swats his hand dismissively, wondering what jerk of a husband would let his pregnant wife carry shit this heavy into the house. _Thank you._

 

 _'s no problem._ He takes the box from her hands. It's not that heavy, but she really shouldn't be carrying it. S _houldn't your husband carry this?_ he asks, not really wanting to get mixed up in someone else's marriage, but finding this too irresponsible to ignore. She leads him up towards the porch, wiping pearls of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. The other, he notes, is resting protectively over her belly.

 

 _Just got divorced. It's just me._ She doesn't sound all that sad about it.

 

 _Y'ain't got nobody ta help ya with this?_ The porch steps creak under their weight, and Daryl wonders why Blake didn't bother with a new coat of paint before selling this thing.

 

The woman shakes her head, clutching the white front door. _I just moved here from Atlanta._ She bites her bottom lip and then, sighing, disappears into the house. _Don't really know anyone, yet._

 

Without another comment, Daryl follows her into the house. He's never been inside this place. From the outside, it doesn't look like much. The front and back yard are wild with growth, the paint chipping away from the walls and the porch bannister, a few windows broken upstairs from a heavy storm last year. But he is surprised by the inside. Wide open space, light flooding through, the backdoor open. The open kitchen space looks brand new, the wooden floors polished, a fireplace that looks almost untouched. Boxes are scattered all over the room, and Daryl puts the one he's carrying down by the staircase.

 

 _Place looks real nice,_ he says, suddenly feeling a little lost standing in this woman's house.

 

She nods, smiling that kind smile again. _It does._ For a moment, she takes in the room with a hazy and distant look in her eyes – they are a brilliant and clear shade of blue, he notes, almost like the sky – and he wonders if she imagines what this place might look like in the future. Her hand is still cradling her stomach, running tiny circles over the fabric of her blouse. Then, she sighs again. _I'm Carol, by the way._

 

He shakes her offered hand, forcing a polite smile. _Daryl. I live next door._

 

 _Thank you so much again for helping me with that,_ Carol says pointing at the box, and he tries not to feel a little lightheaded by the natural smile that she seems to direct at him without pause. Usually, people don't look at him twice, and even if they do, it's never with such kindness. Her tone confuses him, though.

 

 _Saw more stuff in the truck,_ he points out, nodding towards the open door. _Ya can't carry that._

 

Carol shakes her head at that, looking slightly embarrassed. _I'll be fine, I'm sure you want to enjoy your evening._

 

 _Ain't got any plans,_ Daryl admits with a shrug, and he doesn't wait for Carol to try and talk him out of it before making his way outside again. She's partially right. All he wants is to flop down on his couch, order some pizza and watch TV until he falls asleep. It has been a busy day at work, his neck and shoulders aching, and he's well aware of the grease and oil still covering his arms where he's rolled up his sleeves.

 

But he's not a big enough asshole to let Carol carry all her stuff inside on her own while he watches her from his window. As he lifts another box from the truck, he tries not to blush when she smiles brightly at him from the porch, looking at him like he just rescued a damn puppy.

 

He's surprised that he doesn't really mind. Not one bit.


	2. an offer

There ain't shit to watch on TV and it can't be weekend soon enough. It's only Wednesday, though, and Daryl huffs in frustration, shoving away the only half-empty plate of microwave lasagna he'd been picking at for the last ten minutes while listening to the guy in the piss yellow tie going on about the weather.

 

He needs some time off, that might help. Drive up into the mountains, wipe the dust off his crossbow. Just disappear for a while. But he can't afford it, not now. Not when the damn pipes burst last month and his TV has certainly seen better days. One day soon, it'll die on him. It only adds to his frustration, and he curls his fingers into white-knuckled fists against his thighs. It's all been going to shit lately.

 

The ringing of his doorbell nearly sends him bolting from the couch, and he cranes his neck to stare at the closed front door with furrowed brows. He sure as hell isn't expecting anyone.

 

And least of all, he expected _her_.

 

_Hi._ Carol's cheeks are tinted red from the chilly wind when he pulls the door open, her voice just as clear as the crisp evening air. She's wearing a knitted nightmare that goes down to her knees, so many colors woven together that he's momentarily distracted. But she wears a smile, too. Kind and warm.

 

_Hey,_ he replies, burying his hands in his pockets awkwardly.

 

For some reason, her smile only widens, lightening up her face and- fuck. The hell's he even thinking about?

 

_I wanted to give you these,_ she says, holding out a plate for him with flowers painted around the rim, stacks of cookies tucked under a layer of foil. _As a thank you. For helping me yesterday._

 

He's suddenly grateful for the cold wind that offers him an excuse for his suddenly overheated cheeks. _Didn't have ta,_ he mutters, looking at some spot behind her rather than at her face. He really needs to do something about his front lawn. _Ain't a big deal._

 

_But it was,_ she insists, nudging the plate towards him until he doesn't really have a choice but to take it. _I wouldn't have been able to do it without you. Thank you._

 

He gives her a curt nod, surprised that the plate still feels warm in his hand. _Ya just made these?_

 

This time, it's Carol's turn to look away, her eyes casting down towards the ground – although he guesses she can't see much of it over the swell of her stomach. _I didn't know what you liked so I made three different kinds._

 

He wants to tell her she's crazy for wasting so much time on him, that she should be eating them herself instead of giving them a way to a guy she doesn't know. But he can smell them now, warm and sweet, and he can't remember the last time he ate something someone baked for him. Probably back when Dale's wife was still alive, stopping by the shop every other day with a basket of food for the guys. His chest aches a little at the memory.

 

_Thanks._

 

_I would've had to call someone if it wasn't for you,_ she says, fingers fidgeting with the sash that holds her cardigan together. _Such a waste of money, really. Spent all of it on the house. And I still need a car._ She looks up at him then, eyes a little wider – and so, so blue. _Sorry. That's really not your problem._

 

He stands there for a moment, staring dumbly at her. Nobody's ever dumped their problems on him before, and surely not a stranger. Ain't like he looks like the most trustworthy or warm-hearted person. Carol caught her mistake just on time.

 

_Can help ya with the car,_ he offers before he can stop himself, before the thought has even properly shaped in his mind. He wants to take it back that same instant, but then again not when her eyes light up. _I'm a mechanic, know some people. Can get ya a cheap one. A good one._

 

He can tell she's about two seconds away from refusing his offer. Most likely because there's no reason she should take it, not from the neighbor she doesn't even know. Or maybe just because she seems polite. He's ready to accept that, irritated by how... well, _irritated_ he feels by the idea of her rejecting him. But something shifts in her expression then.

 

_That would be... That would be really great,_ she eventually says. _But of it's too much trouble-_

 

_It ain't,_ he interrupts her with a wave of his hand, hating the gruff way it came out. Gives her a weak smile – barely just a twitch of his lips – to show her he isn't actually as annoyed as he seems. As he usually is.

 

Her smile is so much more genuine than his, but he doesn't miss the way she's wrapping her arms around herself now, resting on the swell of her stomach. He should probably offer her to come inside, out of the cold, to make some tea and share the cookies she brought him. Could tell her about the neighborhood, mention Lori Grimes across the street who just had a kid a few weeks ago – they might get along. Ask her why she moved here out of all places, why she bought that pretty run-down house.

 

But he doesn't have the guts for any of it, and before he can say or do anything else, she sighs. _I better get back, you must be tired._ He doesn't get how she can sound so kind no matter what she says, and he sure as hell isn't accustomed to it. People mostly ignore him, don't look at him twice even if he's making an effort. Not that that happens a lot.

 

_Thank you again, Daryl._

 

He swallows deftly, nodding again and then she turns on her heels and slowly makes her way down his creaking porch steps.

 

Heading back inside, Daryl lingers by the window next to the front door, watching as Carol heads back towards her house. It's only when she slips through her own front door that he turns away from the window, looking down at the plate in his hands.

 

With a shrug that nobody can see, he peels the foil away, grabbing what looks like a chocolate chip cookie. It melts in his mouth, the chocolate still warm and the crumbs tasting divine.

 

It's ridiculous, he thinks as he drops back onto his worn couch. Ridiculous but undeniable. He feels better than he did ten minutes ago.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to write shorter chapters for this story rather than my usual long ones. I just feel like lately, I keep writing and writing but the quality is suffering from the quantity. These chapters will be shorter but hopefully more regularily updated. I hope that's okay, it's a bit of a challenge for myself :)


	3. favors

He cleaned it three times. Three damn times when all it really needed was a quick rinse. But he's not going to return her fancy plate with crumbs still sticking to it. He could have returned it yesterday, just put all the cookies – way too many to eat all by himself – on one of his own damn plates. As he makes his way up to her front porch, though, he's glad for the excuse he's clutching to his chest now.

 

Instead of grabbing a beer with the guys from work as he usually does on Fridays, he's returning a damn floral plate to his pregnant, pretty neighbor. Pregnant neighbor. Just that.

 

(she _is_ pretty, though. really pretty with her blue eyes and short, messy hair and this is really not helpful at all because she's pregnant and just got divorced and women like her are never interested in guys like him – ever. and even if she was, what could this lead to? nothing.)

 

He rings the doorbell and waist, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The streetlights flicker to life then, briefly making him wonder if he's interrupting her dinner right now. It's too late to chicken out now, though, and the door is opened not a second later.

 

_Daryl,_ she says brightly, clearly surprised to see him. _Hi._

 

He offers her a polite smile in return, pathetic in comparison to hers. _Wanted ta give ya this,_ he says as he holds the plate out for her.

 

_Thanks._ She takes it from him, her fingers just briefly brushing against his. It's innocent, accidental, but just like every other touch it startles him. It's over too quickly for her to notice, though. Or so he hopes. _Did you eat them all already?_

 

His cheeks heat up like a goddamned bonfire. _Took some to work. They were real good,_ he mutters to the doormat, brand new and with a fox on it for some reason. When he dares a glance up at Carol, he's surprised to find her blushing, too.

 

_Thanks. I'm glad you liked them._

 

This is his last chance to back out. To tell her good night and hurry back to his own place. _Got a car for ya,_ he blurts out instead, mentally smacking himself. Carol's forehead creases and he stumbles over his words like a complete fool. _I mean, I found one ya could take a look at. If ya wanna._

 

If she looked surprised to see him here at all earlier, then she now looks like he just told her he's running for president. _Daryl, that's- I didn't- That's great._

 

She didn't expect him to actually go through with his offer, he understands that much and it hurts more than he would like to admit. He might've been an idiot for suggesting it in the first place, but he wasn't going to just drop it.

 

_Ain't much,_ he mutters, trying to lower her enthusiasm a bit because frankly it's a little too much for his liking. _Pretty old. But it's good, real good. Checked it myself, top to bottom._ That had cost him his lunch break yesterday, and in the wake of her stuttered and abandoned confession he thinks for a moment that it was a waste. Then, however, her eyes do that thing again. Lightening up and sparkling and just for that he decides it was worth it. _Good price, too. Guy owed me a favor._

 

She sucks in a breath. _Daryl, you shouldn't- You don't have to waste your favors on me._

 

_'s all right. Wouldn't have needed it anyway._

 

It's clear that she doesn't want to accept his dismissal so easily, her face an odd mixture of shyness and disbelief. She opens her mouth to speak but falls quiet the same second, clearly chewing on her next words. _How about you come inside?_ she asks then, looking nervous all of a sudden and it feels like another punch to the guts. He tells himself it's only reasonable for her to be wary of him, and it's not like he's usually welcomed with open arms. But coming from her, he nags him more than usual. _You can tell me more about it. I made pasta, if you're hungry._

 

For a moment, he hesitates. Wants to politely refuse her offer, give her the guy's number instead and extract herself from her life just as easily as she slipped into his.

 

Instead, he feels himself nodding.

 

And so, instead of sitting in a shitty bar with a bottle of cold beer, he spends his Friday evening sitting crossed-legged in front of Carol's fireplace because her table hasn't been delivered yet, a plate of spaghetti and meatballs on his lap.

 

It's the best Friday he's had in years.

 

* * *

 

_Are you sure you don't want some more?_ Carol asks, taking the empty plate from him. It was his second helping already and Daryl is pretty sure he is one spoonful away from exploding and splattering his intestines all over her hardwood floors.

 

_Nah, thanks,_ he refuses, collecting their empty glasses from the floor and scrambling to his feet. _Why'd ya make so much anyway?_

 

Carol looks bashful for a moment, shrugging her shoulders. _I like leftovers. And I haven't eaten this in forever. My husband-_ She stops abruptly, something ghosting over her face for a small second, a story she doesn't want to share. _He didn't like it much,_ she ends weakly, clearly not what she really meant to say. Quickly, she turns on her bare heels, heading over towards the kitchen.

 

He follows her through the wide open living space, pieces of furniture scattered all around in weird spots that tell him she clearly hasn't been able to move them. Silently, he sets the glasses down on the counter top, watching Carol putting the dishes down in the sink from the corner of his eyes.

 

The silence between them is suddenly tense, and he feels guilt stirring knowing he brought this on.

 

_So,_ he begins, desperate to end the silence. He doesn't know what to say, what's a safe topic to talk about here. Small talk has never been his thing. During dinner, they mostly talked about the car he'll take her to see next week (because when she mentioned taking the bus he'd waved her off instantly), and she'd asked him a little about his job. Nothing he couldn't handle. _Do ya... Anything else I can help ya with? Heavy shit I can carry?_

 

Staring at his empty glass, he suddenly wishes he could just disappear into the ground. Move to a different country, change his name.

 

_Oh, no,_ Carol replies. _You've done so much already. I'm fine._ His eyebrows shoot up at that, probably disappearing under his messy hair, and he looks at her only to find a smile on her face that looks unlike any she has given him before.

 

_You're a shit liar,_ he huffs before he can stop himself, and Carol's eyes widen, her face frozen. Fuck. Now he screwed up big time, the hell was he thinking saying something like that to her? But she surprises him then, staring at him in shock for a moment longer before laughing. An actual laugh that sounds clear and happy and he can't help but join in, huffing with a grin.

 

_I guess I am,_ she muses.

 

_What'ya need?_

 

She sighs, clearly uncomfortable, but he gets the feeling it's more because she genuinely doesn't want to burden him rather than his determination to help. Not that he has any idea where that even comes from. But she's all alone with no help, and while he's never had to rely on anyone in his life (learned the hard way not to) he feels angry at the idea that she has to suffer through the same fate.

 

_I wanted to paint the nursery today,_ she finally explains, fingertips ghosting over the counter top. _But my balance is off and I got dizzy when I climbed the ladder and- I'll call someone to do it tomorrow. It's so annoying._ That's easy to believe considering the size of her belly. She's skinny overall, long legs and slender neck and- Damn. He's doing it again.

 

_Ain't gotta call anybody, I can do it,_ he offers, listening to himself talking without even really deciding to do it. _They'll just charge ya double._

 

Carol's cheeks are a shade darker than before, and he wonders if it's because of the heat of the fire or his fumbling attempt at neighborly kindness – cause that's what this is. Yes.

 

_I can't ask you to do that._

 

_Y'ain't askin'. I'm offering. Different thing._ She sighs again, pondering his offer. _'sides,_ he continues, _Can't be long before the baby comes, right? Best get that room ready on time._

 

Her hand comes to rest against the swell of her belly then, a faint smile curling her lips, almost dream-like. _Oh no,_ she says quietly, rubbing a circle with her thumb. _She won't be here for a while. I know I look like a whale,_ she laughs, and Daryl doesn't remember the last time he felt this humiliated.

 

_That ain't-_ he starts, not sure how to word an apology for insinuating she's fat. _Not what I mean, 's just... 'm sorry,_ he ends lamely, but Carol hasn't once stopped smiling. _Lori across the street, she looked like that the day before she had her kid,_ he tries to explain away his stupidity, pointing vaguely at her stomach. _Ya met her yet?_

 

It's a poor attempt at changing the subject, but Carol takes the bait with a grin that's almost wicked and sends a very unwelcome shiver down his spine. _No, I haven't really introduced myself yet._

 

There's some bitterness to her words that make him wonder why she hasn't, why she's bothering with him rather than anyone else. But he figures it's better not to ask her that. _She had a kid a few weeks back, sure she's got plenty of stuff ta talk to y'about._

 

Carol smiles at this, excitement glimmering in her eyes. _Thank you._

 

He nods, scratching his chin nervously. _So, ya free tomorrow? To do the nursery,_ he adds quickly, wondering why he can't _stop_ with her.

 

_No plans,_ she says with a smile, holding her hands up in defeat. _But you're going to have to let me pay you back for this, I can't just let you fix all my problems and not-_

 

_Ain't takin' any money from ya,_ he insist quickly before she can suggest anything like that. He ain't trying to make some extra money on the side by helping out a stranger. He just wants to help for reasons he hasn't found yet. She's really not his damn problem.

 

Her shoulders hunch in defeat, almost like she's curling into herself protectively. He recognizes it from before when she mentioned her husband, and he feels shit for making her feel this way. Wasn't his intention to be rude.

 

_Let me at least make you dinner. I'm stealing all your time._ She makes it sound like he's actually missing out on a life while he's here with her, and if it wasn't so sad he'd laugh about it. _Anything you want._

 

In the end, he tells her to surprise him, earning himself another one of those wicked grins, and promises to be back tomorrow afternoon. There's lightness to his step when he walks across her front yard back to his house, and it feels cold in there without the fire. Without Carol.


	4. a forest

_Why'd ya get so much paint? Room ain't that big,_ Daryl wonders out loud, looking at the stack of five buckets of paint in the center of the room. They're all rather small, and he wonders why she didn't just buy a large one – that would've been much cheaper.

 

The room is small but not suffocating, the large windows going out to the backyard and the forest beyond that, all the leafs tinted in vibrant autumn colors. The hardwood floor is covered in layers of old newspapers, boxes of what he assumes is brand new baby furniture shoved into the back – he doesn't even want to know how she got them up there, just hopes she didn't do it herself.

 

_Oh, that's not the same color,_ Carol explains, and he can't help but look at her with the tickle of a smile on his lips. She's wearing torn jeans and the same worn sneakers she wore the day she moved in, a flannel shirt over a worn t-shirt, the sleeves rolled up. Ready for work. _I want-_ A blush tints her cheeks, the same kind of rosy glow that spread cross the sky this morning. _I wanted it to be like a forest in here, you know? Those are all greens, and... I wanted to paint trees on the wall._

 

He listens to her quietly, and it's easy to tell she's more than a little embarrassed – without any reason. She sounds excited and enthusiastic and it's something he's not used to from a parent, thinks about his own for a painful moment. The little girl that's going to live in this room is lucky to have Carol as her mom.

 

_It's silly, I know,_ she goes on, cowering in on herself again the way she did yesterday, even going so far as to take a step away from him. He doesn't think it's an intentional move, and it only makes him wonder more what stories she's keeping tucked away. _She's a baby, she won't even care. If it's too much of a hassle we can just paint the wall green. I'm sure you've got better-_

 

_Hey,_ he interrupts her eventually after holding himself back, not wanting to be unnecessarily rude. But she's taking this too far, already succeeding in talking herself out of her own idea. _Ain't a hassle or anything. If ya want a forest we'll do a forest._

 

Her smile is hesitant, shy. _I just want it to be nice for her._

 

_Ain't nothing wrong with that,_ he says, kneeling down to take a look at the different paints. _Gonna make it look real nice._ He's spent so much time in the woods all his life, he knows how many shades of green there can be, deep and rich or bright and fresh. His forehead furrows though at the fancy names he's reading now. Emerald, apple, lime and amazon green, and one can of brown paint. Behind the stack, he spots small tubes of white, black, red and yellow paint, rollers and brushes, pencils and printed pictures of trees.

 

_Daryl._ Carol's soft voice catches his attention instantly, and when he turns to look at her she smiles at him with glistening eyes. Maybe that's all she had to say, or maybe she can't make herself say anything more. She just looks at him with the most foreign expression and he returns her smile best he can, quickly looking away when he feels his cheeks burning up.

 

_Let's get started then._

 

* * *

 

They work mostly in silence for a long while, the sun moving across the sky outside as the hours tick by. It's comfortable, being with her. She doesn't make him feel like he has to fill the silence with meaningless talk.

 

But after a few hours of painting leafs on the wall like a goddamn mural, he's grateful when she tries to initiate a conversation that is more than the occasional comment on their handiwork or the crisp autumn weather outside.

 

_So, have you always lived here?_ she asks, perched on the second step of a ladder (as far up as she dares) and painting maple leafs onto the wall, shades and all – she's a lot better at this than him so he mostly stick to the tree branches. There are paint splatters all over her forearms and delicate hands, little green specks that blend in with the freckles he couldn't count even if he had the chance.

 

He looks down at her from the top of a much higher ladder, processing her question. _In this town,_ she adds when she notices his slight confusion.

 

_Yeah,_ he shrugs, focusing back on the top branches he's painting. _All my life._ The words linger between them for a while like a loose thread. _Always wanted ta get outta here but I guess I got stuck._ How many days and nights did he spend dreaming about leaving this town when he was younger? Painting pictures in his head of driving off on his brother's bike without a single glance back at the town that would have been glad to see him leave. But those dreams faded eventually.

 

_Guess that happens,_ Carol muses. _I always thought I'd never get out of my hometown._

 

_But ya did._

 

She sighs. _Yeah, I did._ There it is again, that ghost that haunts her features, her eyes hazy and far, far away for a moment. But once again, she pulls herself out of her trance just as quickly as it washed over her. _So, do you have a lot of family here?_

 

His fingers tense around the paint brush, knuckles white where they aren't dotted in paint. _No,_ he answers shortly. He doesn't want to burden her with the mess of what his family used to be. No happy stories there, so he keeps quiet about his mother who burned away to nothing when he was a kid, so long ago that he barely remembers what her voice sounded like. About the father who loved his bottles more than his own kids, who beat him until he passed out, leaving marks behind that he'll have to carry forever. About the older brother he hasn't seen or heard of in years.

 

The less she knows about the Dixons and their reputation in this town, the better. Took him long enough to shrug it off, to make a name for himself, to prove that he's different. People still look at him with suspicion, even after all these years of working a decent job, paying his bills, never getting into any trouble. His father's and his brother's crimes will always be a stigma he has to carry.

 

She'll find out eventually, but until she does, he wants to make sure the person she's spending her time with is different from the caricature created in people's heads.

 

_I don't have a lot of family left, either,_ she tells him then, maybe out of guilt for bringing this up. Hearing it makes him sad.

 

* * *

 

_It's beautiful._ Carol is beaming brightly as they stand in front of the wall, both of them covered in paint and sweat, their work complete. The entire wall is covered in intricate trees and leafs in all shades of green, woven together a little clumsily, but the complete picture looks pretty damn good, he thinks.

 

Outside, it's dark already, and the light of the bare bulb above their heads is harsh and unforgiving.

 

_Looks just like I imagined it._ He can see her looking at him from his periphery, lips spread into a large smile. _Once we put the furniture up it's going to-_ She ends abruptly, suddenly looking utterly embarrassed. _I mean, I can do that myself. It's not heavy or-_

 

_We can do it tomorrow,_ he interrupts her, having seen her squirm enough. He can barely hide his own embarrassment, the fact that she wants him to help her so much that it slipped so naturally taking him by surprise. She might not be able to straight up ask him for help, but maybe she's not at all opposed to it. He feels a little spark of pride fizzing in his veins. _Bet it's gonna look real good with them fairy lights ya mentioned._

 

After a short pause, Carol nods. _Okay._

 

For the first time, she doesn't thank him. Doesn't apologize. She just smiles.

 

_We should really head down and eat,_ she says then, looking at him for a moment longer before her eyes drift down to her feet. _You have to be starving. I am,_ she chuckles, light and sweet and he nods. _I've been marinating steak all day, is that all right?_

 

His eyes widen and he can already feel himself about to drool at the thought, his stomach clenching painfully already. _Hell, that's more than all right._ If it tastes even half as good as the cookies and the pasta, he knows he'll die of overeating tonight.

 

_Good,_ Carol hums, turning around to head to the door. Turning back to look at him as he follows her down the stairs, she eyes him curiously for a moment. _You deserve it,_ she says all matter-of-factly, and his heart makes a leap in his chest.

 

* * *

 

It's ten by the time he gets home, stuffed with steak and potatoes and chocolate ice cream, every limb aching and tired to the bone. But it's a good ache, top to bottom, and he looks at himself in the bathroom mirror for a good long while after he scrubbed green paint off his skin under the shower.

 

His hair sticks to his face, his skin flushed. Jaw and cheeks hidden under a short, messy beard he hasn't trimmed in a while. Couple years ago he was in much better shape, back when he still went hunting regularly. His torso is a pale contrast to his tan arms. Chest littered in scars, much smaller ones than those spread out across his back. He ain't a catch and he knows it, never has been. Skinny as a stick and wearing worn and patched up clothes in high school, and too grim for anyone's liking now.

 

_You deserve it... You deserve it._

 

Her words still echo in his mind, over and over. A part of him wants to accept them, wants to believe that he's the kind of guy who actually deserves something good. But what has he done to earn those words, really? A favor or two. Nothing groundbreaking.

 

He eyes the razor on the top shelf, thinking maybe he should shave his beard off. Runs his fingers through his hair, thinking he might go and get it cut. Pushes his palm against his abdomen, still firm but softer than it used to be, thinking he really needs to get off his damn, frustrated ass. Looks down at his naked body, briefly thinking that it could all be worse.

 

_You deserve it._

 

 

 

That night, he dreams of a clearing in a forest, sitting crossed-legged on the cool grass. Someone's hand is holding his own, pale and delicate, but he can't turn to look at who it is. His eyes are drawn to a little girl in a red dress, twirling in circles with giggles so bright the sunbeams falling into the clearing envy them.

 

The hand tightens around him. Soft, warm lips press to his cheek in a touch that's gentle and tender and everything else he's never known. When he wakes up, he can still feel the tingling on his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I wrote a cheesy dream sequence. I know, I know :)


	5. sunday

She told him to come early, to have breakfast together. So he knocks on her door at nine, his beard trimmed, his hair combed and wearing a shirt he bought months ago but never wore, dark blue with rolled up sleeves. He feels like the biggest fool in the world (knows that all that's missing is a bouquet of flowers to prove what an idiot he really is – he can't help but wonder, though, what flowers she might like).

 

Carol opens the door with a bright smile, her face glowing, and the scent of vanilla and cinnamon welcomes him. _Good morning,_ she greets him cheerfully, her fingers curled around a steaming mug of tea. For one brief moment, he thinks she looks him up up and down, just a flicker of her gaze, eventually focusing on his face. He must've imagined it.

 

_Morning,_ he replies, stepping inside as she makes room for him. The space is still mostly bare, but somehow she manages to make it look like home, cozy and comfortable. She spread out a thick blanket on the floor, plates full of food placed on top of it, cushions with floral patterns ready to give them some comfort.

 

_I hope you like french toast._ She takes a sip of her tea, looking at him with that mixture of shyness and curiosity.

 

He doesn't have a fucking clue what she's talking about. _French what?_ he asks, earning himself a soft laughter in return that makes his blood sing.

 

_French toast,_ she repeats, pointing down at a plate of weird looking things that might have been bread once, clearly tossed in sugar and cinnamon. _It's- Just give it a try._ She grins as they both sit down, and he gladly accepts the coffee she offers, eager to have something to occupy his fidgeting fingers.

 

He takes one bite and decides he'll never have anything else for breakfast ever again.

 

* * *

 

_So, when's the baby comin' then?_ he asks through a mouth full of pizza, sitting on the floor of the nursery. The rug under his ass is thick and soft and much more comfortable than the hardwood floor would've been – it's mossy green like a small field of grass, a meadow in the midst of the forest. Outside, the early afternoon sun is glowing on the colorful leafs.

 

_Early January,_ Carol replies, sitting just a few feet away from him. One of her hands is pressed into her lower back and he assumes that the past few hours of setting up furniture must have taken their toll on her.

 

They did good work, though, and the room looks almost complete. A dark wooden crib, changing table and rocking chair stand in their spots, shelves are mounted to the walls, an ancient drawer that he dragged up the stairs with Carol pushing from below stands proudly across from the crib, fairy lights strung up all over the wall, long thick curtains framing the large windows, the rug rolled out. It's about as perfect as he could've imagined it.

 

_I really hope she waits until then,_ Carol continues, her free hand resting against the swell of her stomach with a faint smile. _I don't want a Christmas baby._

 

He snorts at that. _Yeah, guess that would suck._

 

They finish their pizza in silence after that, one he has already grown so accustomed to that the silence of his own house felt deafening last night.

 

* * *

 

_I'll pick you up on Thursday, then,_ he says, one foot inside and one outside on her porch. The sun is beginning to set slowly, the sky a magnificent shade of orange, but he only has eyes for Carol who looks proud of what they have accomplished today and yet somehow weary – a fragment of how weary he feels about leaving. _Around four? Should be plenty o' time for ya to look at the car._

 

Four days. That's four days with no excuse to see or talk to her, and he feels dread pooling in his guts at the idea. Carol nods slightly, worrying her bottom lip for a moment and he's already stepped out on the porch and into the cool late October air when he suddenly feels her hand on his arm, holding him back.

 

_Wait!_ she breathes, almost a gasp, and he stares down at her hand for a moment, his shoulders having gone rigid. Maybe she noticed it, too because when he looks at her her eyes have widened a little and she quickly pulls her hand away. Thankfully, she doesn't address it. _I was thinking,_ she says instead, sounding a little distant as if she's wondering out loud.

 

He takes her in as she hesitates, her eyes fixed on the point where her hand had just touched him (and he can still feel its echo through the leather of his jacket). She looks so delicate, he realizes. All soft edges and smooth lines mingled with warmth and kindness.

 

_I haven't had a chance to take a look around and I thought that maybe... When we've looked at the car that maybe you could... Show me around a little?_

 

His eyes go wide as saucers as his brain processes what she just said, and it takes him much too long to reply, so long that Carol begins to squirm uncomfortably. _Only if you want, of course. If you've got other plans then-_

 

_No._ The word bursts from his mouth without any finesse and Carol flinches slightly, falling silent. _I mean, I ain't got plans._

 

She eases then, and the corners of her lips flutter as she holds back a smile. _So, are you up for it?_ she asks, and he still can't quite believe that this is happening. It feels like a cruel trick, that she's just going to laugh at him once he says yes.

 

But when he nods, carefully and with too many bad memories holding him back, her face lights up and she actually bounces a little on her heels. _Great._

 

Hell of a lot better than _great_ , Daryl thinks, but he tries to keep himself calm. Last thing he needs is for her to think he's really a clueless teenager deep inside.

 

_I'll see you on Thursday, then._

 

* * *

 

It rains that night and he lays awake in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He wishes the clouds could have waited one more day to burst. Carol doesn't get the broken windows in the upstairs bathroom fixed until tomorrow afternoon, and he's pretty sure the room will be a mess come morning.

 

Sighing, he turns onto his side, watching the shadow of the trees moving outside through the shutters.

 

It's stupid, all of it. Offering to help her, accepting her offer to... to what, exactly? Drive her around and show her the non-existent landmarks? The schools, the Walmart they built last year? The home he grew up in, a shack just out of town, falling apart more and more with each passing year?Take her out to dinner and pretend they're two normal people on a date when that's the last thing this is going to be?

 

Does she just want a friend to help her out around the house? Maybe she's just using him for that, for her own advantage. Wouldn't be the first time in his life. But something tells him he's wrong about that; it's not who she is. He shouldn't be thinking about her so much, though. Not about her smile and her laugh and her eyes and her legs and-

 

With a groan he sits up in bed, shoves the blanket off his body and swings his legs to the side until his feet hit the cold ground below.

 

He'll tell her no, that he's busy after all. Show her the car like he promised and then drop her back off at home and mind his own goddamned business. She ain't his problem and he's gotta stop this before she turns into one.

 

Yes. That's what he's going to do. First thing after work tomorrow. It's the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urgh, this chapter did _not_ want to be written. It's a perfect example of a chapter that only exists to get from point A to point B and I really hope it doesn't read too much like a filler.
> 
> And don't worry: this story won't have any real angst, just a touch of it here and there. Daryl has low self-esteem and we have to let him push those aside right now.


	6. now or never

He doesn't go to Carol's house to tell her any of that on Monday evening. Instead, he hangs his dirty overall up in his locker as usual, tells the guys good night and heads down the street to the hair dresser – the only one in town still open this late.

 

It's not like he has any clue what he wants or why he even went through with the stupid idea to come here, and so he stutters his way through a vague description of what he wants. The woman looking at him in the mirror is kind enough, nodding and smiling and clapping her hands together when he stops talking. Telling him she'll take care of him and that she has the perfect idea.

 

It's not at all reassuring, and he forces his eyes shut when she tilts his head back to wash his hair, every muscle in his body going rigid from the angle and the feel of her hands on him. She doesn't talk much and he's grateful for it, and so he spends the next twenty minutes staring down at his calloused hands in his lap as she snips and snaps around his head.

 

When she's done, he feels naked. His hair feels light and airy and he smells the same way this whole place does – conditioner and hair spray and whatnot – but he doesn't hate the result. Runs his fingers through his shorter hair, nodding when the woman – her name tag reads Jessie, he notices now – asks him if he likes it.

 

He gives her a decent tip and a weak smile and heads out, catching sight of his reflecting in the shop windows. It really isn't all that bad.

 

 

 

He doesn't tell her on Tuesday night, either, even though he's handed the opportunity on a silver plate. Or rather: on a floral plate because that is what she holds when he opens the door to find her standing there, all wrapped up in a coat and a scarf with a plate full of brownies.

 

_You got a haircut,_ she says before anything else, smiling wide. He instantly feels self-conscious about it, naked all over again. All he manages to respond is a huff and a nod, worrying his thumbnail between his teeth. _I like it,_ Carol announces then, completely unprompted but so genuine. _Doesn't hide your face as much._

 

All his blood gathers in his cheeks, flaming hot, and she must've noticed because hers quickly follow suit, and she looks down shyly at the plate she's holding. _These are for you,_ she says, holding out the plate for him while still avoiding his gaze. Not that he'd be able to hold it for long.

 

_Ain't gotta keep baking stuff for me._ She has so much to do, the entire house to get ready before her little girl is born, settling in to a new town all alone with no friends or family. The last ting she should be doing is waste her time on feeding him.

 

_I made some for Rick and Lori, too. Don't feel too special._ His eyes shoot up at her then, his guts clenching already from the blow but then he sees the glint in her eyes and her lips spread into a wide grin.

 

Nervously, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. _Stop._

 

_I don't think I will,_ she counters, holding out the plate for him until he takes it without further fight. And just like before, he chews on the same question he couldn't bring himself to ask the other day. But he should, he really should. It's the least he can do and it's cold outside and she was too kind to him and-

 

_Ya wanna come in?_ he blurts then, his lips and tongue forming the words on the last bit of courage he has, fueled no doubt by the ease with which she seems to be around him. Carol's eyes widen briefly, barely, but he doesn't miss it. The surprise and the way the corners of her mouth twitch. But then, just as quickly, disappointment takes its dreaded place and he feels it like a wave of cold water washing over him.

 

_I'd really like to,_ she sighs, throwing a look over her shoulder at nothing in particular. _But Lori promised to take me to the store and I'm running out of food._ His own eyes wonder over to the Grimes' house, old-fashioned just like his and hers, with a neat front lawn and Halloween decorations already up, the Jack o' Lanterns illuminating the porch.

 

_'s all right,_ he reassures her, not wanting her to realize just how much he dreads asking her in the first place only to be rejected. He should've kept his damn moth shut.

 

_Maybe some other time?_ Carol asks with something he doesn't feel brave enough to call hope in her voice and he nods weakly.

 

_Sure._

 

 

 

He doesn't tell her on Wednesday evening, either. Can't bring himself to go over to her house, give her back her plate and tell her that they shouldn't really be spending more time together. Everything that had sounded so reasonable in his head.

 

Instead, he goes for a run. Hasn't done that in years and even then he only did it once every few months when he needed to get out, get away, release some steam. Back when he still lived with Merle. When he'd come home from a long day at work to find his brother sprawled over the living room floor. Drunk. Stoned. Asleep or awake. Slurring or yelling. Alone or with some woman clawing at him.

 

There's no point hunting in the dark but he needed to get out anyway, and so he ran. Ran and ran until he could barely breathe anymore, and even then he kept running. Those nights, he returned home with his clothes soaked and his blood pumping.

 

He needs the same now. To sweat, to feel the uneven ground beneath his feet, the cool October air piercing his lungs, the exertion of muscles that have grown lazy. To clear his brain for as long as he can.

 

So, with nothing but his key in his pocket, he heads out into the woods behind his house, ignoring all paths. Around him, the trees offer some shelter from the wind, and below his feet he can hear the crack of twigs and fallen leafs, mingling with his ragged breathing.

 

He doesn't think about anything while he's out there, but as soon as he gets back, crossing his back yard, his eyes catch on the light glowing inside of Carol's house. And everything comes flooding back.

 

 

 

Three carved pumpkins greet him on her porch, the candles inside them not yet lit, the sun low in the sky but still offering enough light. He's got her plate in one hand and his car keys in the other, taking a deep, calming breath.

 

It's his last chance. Now or never.

 

His knock is quick and harsh, and the door opens not a handful of seconds later, almost as if she waited for him on the other side.

 

He needs to tell her now. Right now.

 

_Hey, Daryl,_ she greets him with a smile, already reaching for her coat by the door, her sneakers tied and her bag ready by her feet. She looks excited, happy even to see him.

 

 

 

He doesn't tell her on Thursday, either.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another not-so-exciting chapter, but there will be plenty of interaction between the two of them in the next chapter. After all, they have a car to buy and a town to check out :)
> 
> (also, Daryl now has his S3 hair back because that's my favorite and I decided to be a bit selfish here)
> 
> Updates might not be quite so frequent from now on because I'm back to work tomorrow after some time off. But I'll do my best not to let you guys wait too long.


	7. the shade of a blush

_I don't think I want to know why that guy owed you a favor,_ Carol says as they make their way across the parking lot back to his truck. _He's creepy._

 

Daryl snorts at that, nodding in agreement as he fumbles with his keys. _He's an asshole, too. Would've charged ya double for the thing if ya'd come on ya own._

 

She rolls her eyes, clutching the piece of paper to her chest that says the well worn but reliable Cherokee is now hers. _He's not your friend, is he?_

 

_Hell no,_ Daryl replies as they climb into his truck. He could mention that he doesn't really have _any_ friends worth mentioning but he doesn't want to spoil her good mood. She's smiling excitedly, unfolding the paper again to read over the contract a fourth time, tracing the edges with a delicate fingertip.

 

_I have a car,_ she states, and he watches the wonder that practically radiates from her like a warm light. _My own car._

 

He can feel his forehead crinkling a little, wondering if this is the first car she's ever owed herself. There's another untold story hidden behind her almost childlike enthusiasm, but he won't dig, won't try to take anything she isn't willing to offer first.

 

_So, ya wanna go home?_ he asks, a part of him begging she'll say yes so that his complete failure in putting some distance between them would be rectified. But there's another part, louder and more demanding that doesn't want to drive her home just yet. To part ways. Because after this, what reason do they have to spend any more time together?

 

There was always an excuse before but once this night is over, they are left with something much scarier. Spending time together just for the sake of it.

 

_Oh._ Carol looks at him with big, shy eyes, almost like a deer in the headlights. _I thought you'd show me around a bit._ Great, now she thinks he's bailing on her, and he instantly feels like an ass. _But if you've got other-_

 

_Nah, just thought ya might be tired,_ he interrupts her quickly, correcting his mistake. Apparently she won't make the decision he should have made and so they are stuck.

 

Only he doesn't feel trapped, especially not when her lips curl into a wide smile.

 

_Ain't much ta show ya, though. Small town._ He's thought about it all week - when he wasn't thinking about canceling their plans. What to show her. Where to take her. Sure, there are nice spots he discovered over the years. But he doubts that taking her into the woods is what she had in mind. _Biggest highlight recently was when they built a Walmart couple years back. Ain't got any-_

 

_There's a Walmart?_ Carol gasps, silencing him. He wonders briefly how she doesn't know that, if she didn't at all look up this town she moved to (and it makes him wonder why she moved here, out of the city and into the middle of nowhere, clearly without much time to organize her move). But her enthusiasm is contagious and the decision for their first stop of the night is settled.

 

* * *

 

_Which one do you prefer?_

 

He has never felt more out of place in his life. And he – unlike his brother – actually made it through high school. That had felt like the last place on Earth he belonged. But standing in a Walmart aisle full of baby stuff (and what baby actually needs all _this_?), staring at a collection of over a dozen small, folded blankets, well that certainly takes the top spot.

 

_They kinda look the same to me._ He knows he sounds everything but enthusiastic, but as much as he enjoys spending time with Carol, he can't quite share her excitement and dedication over blankets. Or stuffed animals. Or rattles. Or bottles. Or onsies. Or any of the other things that pile up in the cart he's holding on to. It ain't his kid, after all. But Carol's clearly losing control, and it's quite endearing to witness.

 

Carol dramatically rolls her eyes at him, her arms crossed in front of her, resting on the swell of her stomach and he looks away quickly because she's pushing up her breasts in the process and with her coat unzipped and the top of her red blouse unbuttoned, she grants him a view he doesn't feel entitled to. _They don't,_ she insist, pointing at the stacks of blankets. _Look._

 

He stares a bit harder, but it doesn't help at all in distinguishing them. _I'm lookin'._

 

_Well, you're looking at them all wrong,_ she scolds him with mock complaint, gently nudging her elbow into his side. It's the most gentle and chaste of touches but he tenses anyway, fingers curling tightly around the trolley, knuckles white. He forces a smile to mask his body's cursed reaction to any and all touches, and prays she doesn't notice.

 

_'s both pink,_ he declares, once more taking in the two blankets Carol is considering.

 

_Yes,_ she sighs, taking a step closer to the shelf and pointing at one of them. _But this looks like the pink of raspberries. And this looks more like your cheeks do when-_ She pauses mid-sentence, eyes going wide and her cheeks flaming like she's just been caught red-handed. The moment burns so fast that he struggles to process it before Carol is already looking away.

 

But he's heard enough and is smart enough to also hear the words she stopped herself from saying. All this time he'd hoped she wouldn't notice his shyness and his fumbling, his complete lack of skill when it comes to interacting with other human beings, his deeply ingrained insecurities, beat into him for years and years. But she'd seen through it all.

 

_When it's cold,_ she eventually finishes her sentence lamely, clearing her throat. Suddenly, she's restless on her feet, shifting her weight from left to right, eager to get moving. She reaches for the cart and he lets go of it in an instant, still staring at her in embarrassment for not being able to appear less fucked up and in shock that she'd actually connect his blush to a certain color. _I'll decide later,_ she declares, already pushing the heavy cart down the aisle.

 

* * *

 

He ends up carrying half a dozen bags back across the parking lot, a very embarrassed and apologizing Carol following him. She'd avoided the blankets entirely, but had blushed that same shade when she unloaded everything from the cart. He doesn't mind, wishes his own mother had been even a fraction as dedicated as Carol seems to be. There really ain't no fault in spoiling that kid a little.

 

After that, when the streetlights illuminate their way, he drives her around town a little. Shows her the bank and the cinema, a few people gathering in front of it with cigarettes between their lips. On a fleeting idea, he drives her to the schools, earning himself a grateful smile, showing her a few stores and the car shop where he works along the way. There's no real destination but he doesn't feel rushed. Eventually, though, the rumbling of Carol's stomach settles their next and final stop of the night.

 

The diner he takes her to is almost empty, just a handful of people quietly eating their food. He hasn't been here in a while, used to eat dinner here almost every night when he still lived with Merle, when the last thing on his mind was sitting down in the living room with his meager dinner and enduring his brother's company.

 

They fall into an easy conversation as they wait for their fries and burgers, and he can hear himself talking more and more as Carol cleverly tickles information out of him. She's good at that, asking the right question. Far better than him, but he still manages to find out that she once trained to be a nurse but quit before she could finish her training. The reason remains shrouded in mystery, accompanied by the same old ghost haunting her, and she is quick to ask him about his own career to distract from her own – or lack thereof.

 

So he tells her what he can without giving too much away. How he started working at the shop back in high school, how the owner – Dale – offered him a full time job after graduation, and how he never really saw a reason to stop working there. Carol listens intently, nibbling on her fries, smiling when he mentions everything Dale has done for him over the years.

 

Then, suddenly, she grows distant. A car pulls up in the parking lot, not the first since they got here. Every single time before she cast a quick glance outside, but whenever the doors opened to reveal a couple or a family or some guy he knows went to school with him, she turns her attention back to him. He figures his tale can't be that exciting, but he won't just drop it now.

 

When the black car pulls up, though, and the doors don't open, he gets the feeling Carol isn't even listening to him anymore. Her fingers are curled around her glass of water in a tight grip, and her eyes keep flickering between him and the window. All her smiles are tense, her nods mechanical.

 

_Wanna open my own shop one day. Focus on bikes,_ he finishes his tale, cut short even though this is the part he's really passionate about. She doesn't even acknowledge what he said. _Hey, you good?_ he asks finally, wiping his greasy hands on a napkin. _Keep looking at that car._

 

_I'm fine,_ she insists, looking back at him too quickly and taking a sip of water. _It's just... It's nothing._

 

He told her before how terrible at lying she is, and he can see the same clues now. _Carol._ It costs him courage to say her name, to ask her for the truth. The last thing he wants is to corner her, but clearly she's upset by something, and he doesn't know if it's the car for some odd reason or if she just wants to get away from him.

 

With a defeated look, she sighs. _I'm just being paranoid._

 

There is actual fear mingling with her unease now and he hates the sight of it. _Anyone making trouble?_ She's only lived here a little over a week, so he can't see how she could already have run into trouble. But what he sees is real, and she's weary about something or someone.

 

_It's probably nothing_ , she insists, glancing back towards the car again before sinking further into her seat. Setting down the glass, she stares at the table, fidgeting with her empty basket of fries. _Just... My husband..._ The words are spoken quietly and full of hesitation, and whatever spark of courage she felt in order to say them disappears quickly. _It's fine, Daryl._

 

Maybe it _is_ nothing. Maybe the person in the car is just looking at a map, making a phone call. Hell, taking a nap for all they know. Maybe it's her nightmare come true. He doesn't know and he figures it's safer right now not to find out.

 

There is, however, one thing he knows now. Something that dawns on him and settles like a brick in the pit of his stomach. Looking into Carol's face, it's like looking into a mirror – or a family picture. The way she sometimes flinches, tenses, quickly shies away – it's what _he_ does, conditioned behavior he will never be able to change. And the ghost that haunts her so often, he realizes now that he has seen it before. A shadow on his mother's face. Dusty memories he has repressed for so long.

 

He can't be certain and he sure as hell won't ask, but the puzzle pieces fall together in this moment. Her clearly hasty move across the state, the fact she never mentions her past, the way she tenses at any rare mention of the husband she left behind.

 

_Hey,_ he says softly, holding back the urge to still her fidgeting hand and swallowing his anger at the thought of what she might have suffered. _Anyone I need ta keep an eye out for, just lemme know._

 

She smiles sadly, nodding in gratefulness. But her eyes are shining with tears she forces herself not to shed.

 

* * *

 

_I had a nice time._ Carol smiles at him softly from the passenger seat, her handbag on her lap, skin pale in the harsh light overhead. They are parked in his usual spot, right between their houses. Flickering candles in countless carved pumpkins illuminate the night along with the milky streetlights and the moon in a cloudless sky above them.

 

_Yeah,_ Daryl agrees, and there's not an ounce of dishonesty in it. No matter what a turn the night took or how heavy his heart feels in his chest, he had the best time of his life.

 

Carol nods, fumbling with the zipper of her back. _Good night, Daryl._ Her voice is low, so low, and the words sound forced. Her eyes, so blue, are staring at him wide and open, and he can't help it this time, has to look down at her lips that are parted and pink and look so soft.

 

_Night,_ he chokes, voice breaking, and he doesn't know if they were this close before. But his torso is tilted oddly and her breath is warm and damp on his cheek and he can smell vanilla on her. She's so close, so close that he can see the moment she realizes what they are doing.

 

_I can't,_ she blurts, pulling back only to reveal to him that he hadn't been the only one to lean in. Nervously, she clutches her bag to herself now, staring out the window to her house. The light above them has gone out, bathing them in relative darkness.

 

_'m sorry._ He's stupid, so stupid for letting this go this far. _Shouldn't have done that._

 

(but damn it, he wants to. there's no point in denying it to himself anymore and it's scary as fuck because he barely knows her, because this isn't what either of them need right now, because he never felt this way before, this... consumed)

 

She looks at him with a curious expression, somewhere between guilt and blame and confusion. All of it is lined with anger he is sure is not just directed at him. _No, we both- Daryl..._ Looking wretched, she presses her hand to her forehead, eyes squeezed shut for a moment. _I'm sorry._ The fact that she sounds so genuine about it only makes the words hurt so much more. _I just got divorced. I'm having a baby. I can't, we can't-_ Her eyes are pleading with him as she points at the swell of her stomach and herself, as she fumbles for the right words. _We shouldn't do this. I can't do this to you._

 

Her words confuse him; somewhere along the way she stopped talking about what just happened and started talking about something else entirely. _Do what to me?_ he asks, easing his grip on the steering wheel now that he starts to feel his hands beginning to cramp.

 

_Drag you into this mess,_ Carol explains, but it doesn't help him understand. _My life, it's a mess. You don't deserve that._ The words suddenly sound bitter when just a few days ago similar ones sounded so very sweet. Sweet enough to make him trim his beard and cut his hair and wear a new shirt and what good did all of that do? _We have to..._ She sighs, and her eyes turn glassy in the white moonlight. _We should stop this._

 

Funny how a few hours ago he wanted to tell her the same thing. But even then he struggled and ultimately failed, and now that she's spoken the words for him Daryl can feel a void opening in his chest. The idea of not spending any more time with her hurts more than it should. It's almost like life offered him a glimpse of what he could have for a few wonderful days, only to rip it away from him again. Like every other good thing in his life. _Carol-_ he begins, sounding horribly pleading, but she interrupts him before he can make a fool of himself.

 

_Please. I can't._ Her own voice breaks now, sounding out of breath. She pauses for a moment to look at him, but all too quickly her eyes flutter closed, hiding them from him along with her obvious sadness. _Thank you for everything, really. I'm so sorry,_ she whispers before turning away from him, opening the door of his truck and letting in the cool autumn air.

 

_Carol!_ She freezes, one foot out on the sidewalk already, turning to look at him over her shoulder. He swallows down all the words he really wants to say, one last beg for her to change her mind. He has to accept this. _Lemme at least carry your bags inside? They're too heavy for ya._

 

He can see that she wants to refuse him, but is grateful when she instead decides to be reasonable. A soft nod is all he needs to get out of the car, and he silently carries the bags up her porch and sets them down inside.

 

When she thanks him for it, he gives her a curt nod, lingering on her doorstep for a just a second. _Good night,_ she says quietly, but this time he can't respond. Instead, he turns his back to her and makes his way to the emptiness of his own house, feeling like he lost more than he ever even knew he could.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that this update took so long, I really wanted to get it done sooner. But I had a massively exhausting week and barely any time to do the things I really needed to do, and writing moved down to the bottom of the list. I hope you like this chapter, though, and it's a bit longer than the others :)
> 
> And don't worry about these two. They will figure this out, I promise.


	8. exposed

He doesn't see her for a week after that. Well, he _sees_ her but he doesn't. She lives right next door, so there ain't much of a chance not to see each other. But he tries real hard not to.

 

The way she wanted. The way _he_ had wanted, a cruel little voice reminds him.

 

Still, she's right there. So close.

 

He's having a smoke in his backyard when she brings the Cherokee home, parks it in her driveway. Only reason he looked over was cause he heard the engine stuttering. She sits in the car for a few more minutes but he doesn't linger. Doesn't want to stare.

 

The next day he catches a glimpse of her taking out the trash. He's adding another dirty plate to the pile in the sink when he sees movement in the semi darkness. She's dragging the trash bag out with visible strain and every fiber of him wants to head out there to help her. But he doesn't. Turns away instead and leaves the dishes behind.

 

On Halloween, he doesn't just see her. They see each other. Usually he heads into the woods on this night to avoid all the kids and commotion, but it's fucking cold tonight and he can't bring himself to set a foot out there.

 

He's on his front porch handing out cheap candy to a bunch of kids dressed as sheriffs and zombies when he sees her. Standing on her own porch with a bright smile and a basket full of candy. Their eyes meet just briefly and he gives her a curt, polite nod, turning away before she can react.

 

After that he turns the lights off and ignores the doorbell, lies on his back in the pitch black darkness and instead of zombies with torn, rotten flesh it's her face that haunts him. Flawless and kind.

 

* * *

 

He's barely out of the shower when the doorbell rings and he groans in frustration. Can't even have a bloody Sunday morning in peace these days. Wrapping a towel around his waist he's seriously considering ignoring it, but then the bell rings again.

 

_Damn it,_ he mutters to himself, heading out of the bathroom. It had been steaming in there and the cold air of the hallway hits his overheated skin, goosebumps erupting all over.

 

Carefully, he peeks out of the window by the door, hoping that whoever it is isn't looking there right now to catch him staring like a creep.

 

Fuck.

 

Carol is standing right there, arms curled around herself and her breath turning into mist.

 

He can't just ignore her. No matter why she's here. Maybe the car died on her and she wants to scold him for ever showing it to her. Maybe she wants to complain about the state of his front yard. Whatever stuff neighbors do.

 

Aware of his state of undress, Daryl opens the door just a fraction.

 

_Hey,_ he says, swallowing deftly and hoping she can't see more than his face.

 

She looks shy and nervous and forces a smile, but she also can't hide her confusion at his awkward attempt at hiding himself.

 

_Hey,_ she responds, sounding almost out of breath.

 

_Everything all right?_ he asks, feeling water dripping from his wet hair down his back.

 

_Yes,_ she replies a little too quickly, sighing almost instantly and shaking her head. _No. I... Can we talk?_

 

He curses a god he doesn't believe in anymore and a few others for good measure because this is just his luck. Of course the universe has to make her show up here when he's naked. When he can't hide from her.

 

_Ehm,_ he mutters, staring down at his bare feet for a moment. He should send her away. There ain't nothing to talk about after all. But he can't. Just can't. _Sure,_ he agrees, taking a step back to open the door for her.

 

Keeping his body angled so his back faces the wall, he waits for her to step inside. Wishes he had cleaned this place recently. It ain't dirty or messy but it sure as hell don't look like nothing out of a magazine.

 

Carol's eyes widen a little when she takes in the sight of him and he wants to sink into the ground. Nobody's seen him this naked in a good long while.

 

There are scars on his chest, too, but he's gotten good at explaining those away over the years. They don't look as glaringly obvious as the ones on his back and are more difficult to hide, so he's found excuses for them, made up stories. Carol's eyes don't linger but she looks nervous, kneading her gloved hands and casting an uneasy look around.

 

_Listen, gonna get dressed and then we can talk, all right?_ She nods with a thin-lipped smile and he points vaguely to the couch, silently telling her to wait there as he hurries to the bathroom, awkwardly backing away so as not to present his entire childhood to her on a silver platter.

 

He slips into the bathroom and leans back against the door, suddenly feeling like a prisoner in his own house.

 

* * *

 

_I like your house,_ Carol announces as he makes his way out of the bathroom a few minutes later, dressed in sweatpants and one of his rattiest shirts, still barefoot but he hadn't exactly planned his outfit before heading into the shower. She's perched on the edge of his couch, hands folded in her lap and her coat, scarf and gloves resting neatly on the back of the couch.

 

The ashtray on the table is full to the brim and he internally rolls his eyes, shrinks a little as he sits down next to her.

 

_Ain't much,_ he shrugs, mostly avoiding Carol and letting his eyes roam the room instead. He likes the house, feels more at home here than ever before. It's pretty small and just the ground floor, but more than enough room for him. And with the wide open room that holds kitchen, hallway and living room, he never feels like the walls are closing in on him. _Never got around to fixing the place._ He bought a few plants here and there, but that's about it. Still, it's like a mansion compared to the shack he grew up in or the place he shared with Merle after, looking and smelling like a drug den more than anything.

 

_How long have you been living here?_ Carol asks, kneading her hands in her lap. He wonders, briefly, if it's because she's nervous or to warm up her stiff fingers.

 

_'bout four years,_ he replies, not quite sure where to take the conversation from here so he decides to just pretend she's a house guest (which is a rarity here). _Ya want anything to drink?_

 

She smiles but shakes her head, straightening her shoulders a little. _No, thank you._ Drinks and small talk are apparently not why she came here, and he braces himself for whatever is to come.

 

_So, what'ya wanna talk about?_ he asks, figuring he might as well meet her head on. _The car ain't broken, right?_ If it is, he's going to beat the guy's ass for trying to trick them. Wouldn't put it past him, but he'd checked it top to bottom to make sure it was safe for her and the kid.

 

_No, that's not-_ Carol struggles for a moment, fingers now fidgeting without aim. _I wanted to apologize, Daryl,_ she says then, softer than before, looking at him with remorseful eyes. _I'm really sorry._

 

She does sound genuinely sorry, only he doesn't understand at all why. She didn't hurt him, not on purpose. It's not like he had any right to hurt in the first place. _For what?_

 

Looking a little embarrassed and utterly uncomfortable, picking at a loose seam on her jeans, Carol shies away from his gaze. _You know for what._ The short pause is completely silent, the quiet neighborhood not offering much background noise on a Sunday morning. _You did so much for me, I had no right to just... To say what I did._

 

She's doing it again. Apologizing for something she ain't got no reason to apologize for. She made a decent choice, a good one. Protecting herself and her kid (and him, if he's being honest). It was mature. And she had the courage to actually do it, unlike him.

 

_Hey,_ he says softly, surprised when he inches a little closer to her. There's still a mile of space between them, but he can feel his heart rate picking up anyway. _'s your choice who ya wanna spend time with. If it ain't me then that's fine, ain't gotta hang around me outta guilt or some shit like that._ He pauses for a moment, but not long enough for her to speak up. _And y'ain't got to apologize._

 

Her forehead wrinkles, causing her nose to crinkle ever so slightly and damn it, the morning sun is shining right at her, highlighting every single freckle that is dusted over her pale skin. _I didn't, though,_ she says, finally stilling her hands. _Spent time with you out of guilt. I like you._ Every muscle in his body jolts and his stomach turns in a way that has him worrying he might throw up on her in a second when he hears the words. If she'd asked him to marry her, he'd have been less shocked. That could've easily been explained away as a joke. This however, the softness in her eyes and the sweetness of her voice, sounds so genuine that it can only be only cruel trick. _Just..._ Carol sighs in defeat, sinking into his couch until her head rests against the back. _I can't like anyone like_ that _right now and I didn't want to lead you on._

 

It takes him a moment to process what she said because his brain is still stuck on what she said before (so easily, like it didn't cost her anything to say those words, like it's the most natural thing in the world to tell daryl dixon that you like him). When he does, though, and pulls himself together, he realizes just how much she's blaming herself for something she didn't do. Hell, never in a million years would he think he's got a chance with her.

 

_Hey, I get it,_ he reassures her, not quite believing that he's having this conversation. Nobody was ever worried about leading him on. Ain't like anybody ever made him feel like much of anything. _That ain't what'ya lookin' for. Ain't what I'm lookin' for neither._ The thought alone makes him cringe. Relationships. Intimacy. He left so much of his past behind, but those are things he still can not make room for. That feel too much like a cage and whip alike. _That why ya think I helped ya?_

 

It's a nasty thought, and even worse than her figuring out what kind of men his father and brother were. To have her think he's some creep trying to lure his way into her life with promises of kindness.

 

But Carol smirks then, a sight to behold and that makes his heart flutter a little. _Well, I'm kind of pregnant and look like I ate a beach ball, so I didn't exactly think you were trying to get in my pants._ He stares at her wide-eyed when those words just slip from her lips like it's nothing, and she eyes him for a second before her smirk turns into a full-on grin. _Unless you're into that, of course._

 

What the fuck's he supposed to say to that? Especially with how she's still grinning at him. _Stop,_ he mutters lamely, and then she's laughing, bright and clear like the spring. His own snort sounds awful in comparison but she doesn't seem deterred by it.

 

_Ain't why,_ he eventually admits when they both have fallen silent. _Do I need a reason?_ It's a question that lingers between them, heavy and loaded and it reminds him of the fear he had when they were together. Of what would happen once there's nothing pointing them in a direction. When they're together not for a specific reason but just to _be_.

 

Carol seems to ponder the question for a long while, eyes glassy and distant. _No, you don't,_ she murmurs then, turning her head to face him properly. He didn't even notice when he leaned back, too. _Do you forgive me?_

 

If there was more space between them (and it's no more than a foot now) he wouldn't even have been able to make out her words. Can't look at her now because from this distance he can see the exact speckles of different blues in her eyes and the constellation of her freckles and it feels like the entirely wrong thing to do, memorizing all of that. _Ain't nothin' to forgive._

 

Carol's whole body seems to relax and it doesn't seem real that his words have such an effect on her. Clearly, the needless guilt she felt must have weighed her down over the past week, and he wonders if anyone else has ever felt bad because of him, because of how they might have made him feel. He doubts anyone ever cared about him enough for that. Only that's a ridiculous thought cause she doesn't know him, can't really say that she likes him because why would she? There ain't nothing to base those words on.

 

_Good,_ she says softly, interrupting his poisonous thoughts. _Cause I really do like spending time with you. Even when we're not trying to get in each other's pants._

 

She's doing it again, and her smirk from earlier is back. Softer and less devious this time, but full of cheek nonetheless.

 

_Y'always talk like that?_ he asks, cursing the blush that's creeping back into his cheeks at the implications of her words (and for a brief, treacherous second he can't help but imagine it, touching her, feeling her hands on him, right here on his worn couch – but no, he pushes those thoughts away. ain't what either of them is looking for, right?)

 

_Maybe,_ she replies with a wink – an actual wink – and he snorts to mask his very real embarrassment. Shakes his head for good measure until they're face to face, just as close as they were in the car but this time he knows better than to move any further.

 

_Everything all right?_ he asks, knowing that silence might be dangerous right now. It's already difficult not to let his eyes drift down to her lips, or to resist the urge to breach the gap and find out of they are as warm and soft as they look. And damn it if he doesn't catch her eyes drifting down to his own lips for a second before settling on his own eyes, a questioning look crossing her face. _I mean... 'bout that car._

 

He'd worried about it all week, had caught himself staring out of his front window at the most unreasonable hours just to check if there was a car parked there that doesn't belong. Like an elderly lady he'd observed the people passing by, those that lingered too close to Carol's house, those that hurried past. Everyone really, the black car in the diner's parking lot always in the back of his mind.

 

_I'm fine, I was overreacting,_ she says casually, or trying hard to sound that way, swatting her hand at thin air. _I don't really want to talk about it._ He figured as much, doesn't want to push her. And so he keeps everything else to himself, his offers of keeping an eye out, that she can call him anytime, day or night, of someone (her ex-husband, or whoever it may be) is causing trouble. That's probably a hundred steps ahead of where they are, though.

 

_'kay._

 

_So, what do you usually do on Sundays?_ Carol asks, shifting a little on the couch and pressing a hand to her stomach, probably uncomfortable from sitting at this awkward angle for too long. _When you're not helping pregnant women in need._

 

He huffs at that but chooses not to linger on it. Mentally, he's preparing himself for a lot more teasing than he can take, and doesn't expect the flush on his cheeks to ease anytime soon. _Not much._

 

Carol worries her bottom lip between her teeth, and that just seems cruel considering how close they are, considering the mess they'd nearly gotten themselves into the other day. And he doesn't quite believe she's oblivious to it. That is seemingly confirmed when she quickly rights her mistake and releases her lips, putting on a light smile instead.

 

_Well, how about we do not much together?_

 

 

 

Three hours later, he's sitting crossed-legged and still barefooted on his floor, spitting curse after curse as he loses a game of Monopoly with flying colors. Carol's triumphant grin as he lands on another one of her hotels and begrudgingly hands her his last bright pink paper money, though, is more than worth the catastrophic loss.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? All is well again. We've made it through the angst part of the story, trust me :)


	9. comfort

_'s nice. Real nice._

 

Her new couch stands proudly in front of the fire place, adding some comfort to the wide open living space. The fabric is deep red and plush looking, the wooden feet sturdy and a little worn. It suits the room, he thinks, suits the house and her.

 

Carol is spread out on the couch with a beaming smile, running her hands over the cushions – she looks so much happier than anyone should be over a couch. It's who she is, though, and he noticed it a while ago. How everything seems to brighten her mood, even tiny, seemingly random things like the new curtains he helped put up a few days ago, trying a new and exotic recipes that he has to taste first, no matter how wavering her success is.

 

She's drinking it all in, life and all the good it has to offer, and he's fighting against how contagious that is.

 

_Found it online,_ she explains, lightly dragging her short nails over the armrest. _Someone really wanted to get rid of it. Barely had to pay for it._

 

_Got lucky._ He's leaning against the side of the fireplace now, arms crossed in front of his chest. _I've had mine forever. Ain't that great anymore._

 

He found the old thing in a junk yard once, all the way back when he stilled lived with Merle. Spotted it there when he was running and got it for free, the owner glad to see it gone. Back then, he'd squeezed it into his tiny bedroom, unwilling to share it with his brother who would only spill his drinks on it. It was one of the few things he kept when he moved out, when he started his own life, and it's been with him for nearly a decade now.

 

_Well, you're just going to have to sit on mine more often then._ She smirks, saying it with the same cheek as usual – like she's implying something more and he blushes, chewing on his thumbnail instead of saying anything. Her smirk softens into a smile then, and she edges forward on the couch. _I made pie._

 

He snorts, having assumed something was or had been in the oven when he came over, the smell of apples and cinnamon filling the house. _Y'always cookin'?_ he asks, almost feeling his stomach protesting from all the proper food he's been forced to eat lately.

 

Carol only shrugs, eyes cast downwards, looking genuinely embarrassed by his question. Guilt instantly creeps up on him for making her feel that way, but then again, she's always making him cringe and blush and stutter and seems to enjoy that a lot. So maybe, just this once, she kind of deserves it.

 

_Do you want some?_ she asks before he has a chance to apologize or tease her a little (he hadn't decided yet), and her eyes look hopeful now. _I have ice cream._ As usual, she doesn't give him time to reply, to refuse, pushing herself off the couch and heading towards the kitchen already. And as usual, he finds himself following her like a needy puppy. It should make him feel humiliated, ashamed, but he is slowly starting to accept that he just _likes_ it. Being with her. It feels foreign cause he's never liked being around anyone. But with Carol, something is different, and the changes are unsettling sometimes.

 

_Gonna get fat,_ he huffs as they make it to the kitchen, spotless and clean.

 

_That makes two of us,_ she laughs, already pulling a bucket of vanilla ice cream from the freezer, vaguely pointing at her belly when she sets it down on the counter.

 

She may or may not be subtly reminding him of his misstep in calculating her due date, but even if she wasn't he certainly still feels the shame of that mistake. _Y'ain't fat,_ he mutters quietly, the statement unasked for. A part of him never intended for her to hear the words at all but she does, cheeks turning a shade darker and lips twitching into a shy smile as she busies herself with two plates.

 

_Thanks._

 

Another part of him that he keeps buried deep down because it's new and raw and he doesn't know what to do with it, wants to tell her so much more than that. All the other things he tries so hard not to notice about her.

 

But he knows there's no place for any of that for them. Maybe there never will be, and there certainly isn't now. So, instead, he remains quiet.

 

* * *

 

_The cinema?_

 

Carol is standing in his hallway in her purple coat and with her huge handbag slung over her shoulder, wearing a determined expression alongside an angry red flush from the cold wind.

 

_Yes._

 

_Why?_

 

She rolls her eyes at him in mild annoyance, and Daryl already scrambles to figure out a way to talk her out of this ridiculous idea. He had plans to do nothing at all today, preferably with her, but he has learned the hard way not to be picky. One way or the other, leaving the house to mingle with other people had been towards the bottom of his wish list.

 

_Figured we could both get out of the house for a change,_ Carol says, shuffling over to his coat rack and rising onto her tiptoes to grab his leather jacket from a hook. _We're basically hermits, you know?_ She throws the heavy jacket at him with a grin, and he catches it easily, looking down at it in disdain.

 

_Ain't nothin' wrong with that._ It's the way it's always been. He'd never had much passion for going out, not everyone else's definition of it, anyway. Wasn't like he wanted to lock himself up in his house, but he'd rather go someplace quiet and not someplace crowded.

 

_That's because we're being hermits together,_ Carol says with a wink that has his stomach tensing. She bends down to pick up his boots, clearly struggling to maintain her balance. _Please?_ she begs, holding out his mud-caked boots for him. _I haven't been in forever and going alone is just depressing._

 

He has to silently admit that imagining her all alone in a dark movie theater does feel depressing, and so he shrugs, admitting defeat. _Fine,_ he grunts, taking his boots from her hands.

 

Her eyes brighten up instantly, all traces of doubt wiped off her face, and she takes a bold step towards him, briefly touching her hand to his bare forearm – just above his wrist but it feels like she pushed her hand into his chest and curled it around his heart instead. _You're the best._

 

She always says things like this like it is the most natural thing to do, but every time his chest contracts, confusing the hell out of him. He plays along, though, holding on to the idea that maybe she actually means it and even he can't deny how nice that feels.

 

* * *

 

They are standing right in the middle of his front yard, which is no more than a very sad sight, and Carol is trying hard to find a solution to the problem now that somebody finally complained about it. He'd been waiting for around two years for someone to mention it to him, and now the old lady who lives three houses down finally did – only she dropped a fucking _note_ in his mailbox reminding him that the state of his front yard is clear for everybody to see and misrepresents the neighborhood.

 

And so here they stand, trying to fix it. Or Carol is.

 

_You should plant some trees. Maybe some flowers,_ she suggests, wrapped in a coat and scarf, arms crossed in front of her chest to shelter herself from the biting wind. It hasn't been this cold this time of the year in quite a while.

 

He really isn't up for this whole thing. While he doesn't quite get the fuss about it, he'd be willing to take care of his dried up lawn come spring, maybe get rid of some of the dry or overgrown bushes scattered here and there. But he sure as hell doesn't see no reason for any fancy landscaping. _Ain't planting no flowers,_ he mutters, pissed off royally by the stupid note and the way his fingers stiffen from the cold.

 

Carol groans in defeat now that he has refused her fifth suggestion in a row, throwing her hands in the air. _Why do I put up with you?_ she sighs exasperatedly, shaking her head at him with a scolding expression.

 

He knows exactly she's referring to nothing more than his current stubbornness regarding future gardening endeavors, but to him, the question runs deeper than that. _Keep asking myself that,_ he mutters, and suddenly the air between them charges and an awkward silence fills the afternoon quiet. He sounded too genuine.

 

Carol mercifully breaks the moment with a shallow laughter, gently nudging her well padded elbow into his side. Slowly, he's getting used to her touches, doesn't tense as much or shift away. He's learning not to expect pain from her, but it's a touch lesson.

 

_You're an idiot,_ she declares, but her expression has noticeably softened. _If you want me to help you you can't say no to every-_ She falls silent mid-word when a car pulls up the quiet street, slowly coming to a halt two houses down from them. It's black, but Daryl can't tell if it's the same one that had bothered her so much back at the diner. It had been too dark then to make out much, but judging by size it might be. One way or the other, all color has rapidly drained from Carol's face. She looks pale and shaky, utterly terrified.

 

_Carol?_ Her name trembles on his lips as he takes a cautious step towards her.

 

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. _I better get going,_ she says too quickly, eyes flickering between him and the parked car. _I have to- I should go._

 

_Hey, don't._ Almost instinctively, he reaches for her arm when she turns away, a little surprised by his own boldness. It gets her attention though and when she turns, both their eyes flicker down to his hand curled loosely around her forearm until he lets go. _What's wrong? That car again?_ His fingers curl into fists, anger burning in his veins. _I'm gonna go check, ain't nobody got no right to bother ya._ He turns away from her, ready to march over there and find out who it is. From this distance, all he can make out is the driver's silhouette.

 

Carol, however, is quick on her feet, and he comes to an abrupt stop when both her hands curl around him arms from behind.

 

_Daryl, no!_ she gasps, clutching to him through the leather of his jacket. _Please don't._ She sounds so afraid and her voice so frail that he feels his anger deflating. He turns around, but her hands linger on his arms, still holding on to him. _Please. He can't- You shouldn't..._ The words stumble from her lips in a mess he can barely make sense of. But he knows fear when he sees it and it's crystal clear in her blue eyes where she keeps them fixed on his chest. _I can't explain._

 

Tears begin to gather in her eyes, a single one spilling over and trailing down her flushed cheek. He has to fight the urge to wipe it away, to cradle her head in his hand and hold her. To offer comfort when that's something nobody has ever offered him.

 

The sound of an engine tears him out of his thoughts and he turns his head in time to see the car driving off, eventually disappearing around a corner. Most of the tension eases from Carol's body, her grasp on his arms turning gentler.

 

_Y'ain't gotta explain,_ he reassures her then. If there's one thing he understands it's not wanting to talk about the past, not wanting to wake old demons. The rattled state she's in right now only adds more pieces to the puzzle he started to put together that night at the diner. _Just lemme help somehow,_ he says softly, his voice low, and Carol looks up at him through the blurry veil of her tears.

 

A shiver wrecks her body, eyes quickly darting back to the barren ground beneath their feet. _Can we go inside? I'm cold._

 

He offers her a nod she probably can't see, both of them heading towards his house. Somewhere along the way, her hand on his arms finds his way downwards until her fingers lace around his – soft and warm and still trembling as he shuts his front door behind them.

 


	10. celebration and defeat

With fatigue in his bones, Daryl drags himself over to the door, pulling it open with a sore arm and an even worse shoulder. His last thought is that he's getting old before Carol wipes all that away. Standing on his front porch with the brightest of grins and what looks like a bottle of champagne in her hand. She pushes past him before he has the chance to invite her in (and they're really past that point, he has to admit), stepping into his house without a word of greeting.

 

_The hell's that for?_ he asks as she shoves the bottle into his hand, the sparkly liquid inside non alcoholic as the label proclaims.

 

She's shrugging out of her coat when he shuts the door. _We're celebrating._

 

_Celebratin' what?_

 

_I got a job,_ Carol reveals, untangling her scarf from around her neck and letting it join her coat and gloves on a hook by the door.

 

_Seriously?_

 

She'd mentioned the other day that she was looking for something to do, nothing proper but merely that she was keeping her eyes open for anything that might come up. She'd worried about how difficult it would be to find any work now with the baby on the way and with no qualifications to speak in her favor.

 

_Yes,_ she says proudly, already heading towards his kitchen. _At the library._

 

He follows her with the bottle clutched in his hand, watching as she pulls two glasses from a shelf and shoves some empty microwave meals aside with a brief expression of disgust. _Lori put me in touch with the woman who runs it and I figured I'd give it a go,_ she explains, taking the bottle from his hand. _She's really desperate for help. I'll only work a few hours a week for now, but it's perfect. I'll get out of the house, meet new people. Earn my own money. And if it all works out, after the baby's here, maybe I can work there properly._

 

Pride looks good on her, he notices. It makes her skin glow even more, causes her eyes to sparkle, her shoulders to straighten. She hands him a glass, and they toast silently to her success.

 

It tastes absolutely disgusting. Way too sweet and sparkly and he wouldn't even want to drink it if it had actual booze in it. Even Carol, who usually inhales chocolate and pie and ice cream like it's her last meal, crinkles her nose a little. Her tongue darts out briefly to lick a last few droplets off her bottom lip and the sight is distracting him from the actual reason of their small celebration.

 

Clearing his throat, he sets his glass down on the counter.

 

_'m proud o' ya._ He didn't mean for the words to come out as soft as they did, but now that it's done Carol's proud smile softens into a much shyer one, and she toys nervously with the rim of her glass.

 

_Stop,_ she says quietly, and he snickers in response, feeling more than a little victorious.

 

_That's my line._ They both laugh at that and Carol leans her hip against the counter, taking another sip and he's glad she seems to like it at least a little because he sure as hell won't be much help finishing the bottle.

 

Eventually, their laughter ebbs away and he sits down on one of the bar stools behind the counter, briefly fighting the urge to say what's on his mind but losing the battle. _Seriously, though,_ he insists softly, the corners of his lips briefly twitching into a smile. _'s great news._

 

It really is and he can feel some of her excitement passing over to him. More than anything he wants her to have all the good things life has to offer, even though it still frightens him how much he craves that. But damn it if she doesn't deserve them all.

 

* * *

 

_Ouch._ Carol's muttered exclamation of pain pulls Daryl's attention away from the movie. Sprawled out on her couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table, he'd allowed himself to drift off a little after a long day of work.

 

_Y'all right?_ he asks, watching as she shifts to an awkward angle where she sits next to him, her legs tucked underneath her, hands pressing into her sides.

 

_Yes,_ she assures him, but her forehead is still creased and she clearly pays no attention to the movie she'd insisted they watch.

 

_Don't look all right,_ he pushes further, not surprised when she sighs in defeat.

 

Sinking into the couch and pressing a hand to the top of her stomach, she groans. _She's kicking me._

 

_Huh?_

 

_The baby,_ she explains. _She's moving around a lot today and it hurts. Here, feel._ Before he can process her words or stop her, Carol has reached across the small distance to curl her fingers around his wrist, tugging ever so slightly at his arm. He feels the entire limb stiffening but she either doesn't notice or ignores the small fight he puts up, but his brain slows a little at the warmth of her fingers on his skin and only when she pushes his hand against the swell of her stomach does he realize what she was doing.

 

_Carol, I don- Oh._ He wants to pull his hand away because what right does he have to touch her like this? But then he can feel exactly what she's talking about, a weird kicking sensation, something moving under the firmness of her stomach. Hell, it don't even feel like a stomach to him. It's captivating, though, knowing that it's a real flesh and blood baby dancing around in there.

 

Looking down, Daryl finds himself captivated by the sight of their hands, her own still covering his.

 

_You feel that?_ Carol whispers, and he swallows deftly when he can't stop himself from briefly brushing his thumb over her stomach. In the tiny second before he stills, he thinks he can hear her sighing.

 

_Yeah._ The moment feels too heavy when he looks up. She's so close, merely a hand of space between them now. The look in her eyes is new and different, a brand new shade of curiosity that is impossible to turn away from. It's dangerous, though and he knows it. This line between them blurry at best and so he scrambles to break the silence, speaks the first thing on his mind that doesn't involve leaning in to kiss her. _'s like an alien._

 

Carol gasps, swatting his hand away but entirely unable to hide her grin. _That's my baby you're talking about._

 

* * *

 

He never should have said anything. But she always does this, making him _talk_ , and so he'd mentioned to her that he used to spend Thanksgiving up in the mountains. Hunting, getting away from all the commotion for a few days. Especially since he has no family to celebrate it all with (he still hasn't told her much more about his past, mentioned briefly that his parents are both dead and that his brother lives out of town).

 

He'd also told her that he hasn't gone in a few years, somehow always finding a reason not to.

 

The same is true for this year. He has no plans to leave but then the weather improves drastically just a few days before Thanksgiving, warming up noticeably, and it's Carol who ends up talking him into taking the trip. Who gives him a small speech about doing what he loves, to go out there and do what he enjoys doing.

 

Stupidly, he agreed.

 

He can't deny the appeal of it. Out in the wild, he's caught between being grateful for the escape and regretting his hasty decision. Being in the woods, hunting, it all feels good, familiar. Muscles long unused are reborn, the thrill of it all rushing through him. The tension ready to snap when he stalks his prey, the adrenaline as he releases a bolt. He can _breathe_ out here, far away from other people.

 

But for the first time, he realizes that something is missing. It was missing all along but in the years before he couldn't allow himself to feel that void. Every time he sees something that strikes him as beautiful or exciting, he wants to show it to Carol. Hear her opinion. At night, he lies away in his tent wondering what she's up to. The first night is the worst because he realizes with a start what an idiot he is, never having asked her what she has planned for the holiday. After all, she ain't got any more family than he does.

 

 

 

He returns after three days and if he didn't regret leaving before, he definitely does now.

 

As he rounds the corner, he can already see that something is very wrong. Pulling up to his house, the two police cars parked in front of Carol's house become clearer. Rick Grimes is standing on the sidewalk, apparently talking to one of the officers.

 

His heart picks up speed so much that he would probably pass out under normal circumstances, hands sweaty around the steering wheel and he pulls over, stops his truck without paying any attention to where he's parked. The door rattles as he pushes it open and jumps out onto the road, half-running over to her house.

 

_Fuckin' hell! Carol?_ he shouts, heading straight towards her door but Rick is quick on his feet, stepping up in front of him before he's even crossed half her front yard. _What the fuck's goin' on 'ere?_ he asks, still taking a few slower steps forward.

 

_Calm down, Daryl._

 

Rick keeps his own voice calm. He doesn't hate the guy, no matter what has happened in the past, but right now that is the last thing he needs to hear. _Fuck you, man,_ he spits, hands balling into fists by his sides. _Where's she? What happened?_

 

Trying to slow him down a little as he begins to march up to her house, Rick lifts his hands in the air. He's not dressed in his uniform, looks out of place here. _She's inside, she's fine._

 

He only listens to him with half an ear, the porch steps banging under his weight as he runs up to her open door. _Carol!_ he shouts again, every drop of blood in his veins boiling, his breath leaving his lungs in short, angry huffs.

 

She's sitting on the couch, her arms wrapped around herself. There's a police woman by her side with a stiff hand on her shoulder, but what he'll never be able to erase from his memory is the redness of her eyes and the tear streaks on her cheeks.

 

_Daryl!_ She gasps his name through a sob and scrambles off the couch on unsteady feet. He rushes over towards her, his own legs feeling numb, and they meet halfway. She crashes into him, stumbling as she curls her arms around him, pressing her wet cheek to his chest.

 

Her entire body is wrecked by sobs and she curls her fingers into his jacket to the point he's sure she's leaving marks behind in the worn leather. In return, he clutches her to him as best as he can, one hand curled around her shoulder and the other coming up to cradle her head. _Jesus, what happened?_ he asks now, his voice less harsh than before, but his heart still beats just as wildly.

 

_He came here,_ she mutters, holding herself upright against him when her knees buckle. _He just showed up- I was... He just..._ He can barely make out her words through the wreckage of her tears, but it's just enough to understand and fill in the blanks. The husband she seemed to be so afraid of finally showed up, the ghost that haunted her all these weeks. Proving that those times they spotted and ignored the black car they made a huge mistake. _He_ made a huge mistake.

 

_He hurt ya?_ Panic rushes through him then, and he pulls back just enough until he can look at her, running his hands up and down her arm clumsily as if to search for any injury.

 

But she shakes her head softly, blue eyes avoiding his. Then, with a sigh, she presses her forehead into his chest. _No, I'm okay,_ she reassures him, inhaling a stuttering breath. _I'm just- He said he wanted to talk. Kept banging on the door._ Fresh tears  trail down her cheeks and soak into his shirt, warm and damp. _Oh, Daryl,_ she breathes, one of her hands curling around his neck and holding on so tightly that he feels himself hunching over. The police officer takes a step towards him, nodding curtly at him before making her way out of the house.

 

His arm curls around Carol more tightly, too afraid that she'll fall to the ground if he lets go.

 

_Hey, hey. 's all right,_ he murmurs, his hand running up and down her back, following the ridges of her spine. _He's gone now, 'm here._ He can only assume that they arrested him, that it's all over now. _Ya safe._ He'll make sure of it, won't ever let her be this hurt, this shaken, again.

 

_I knew he'd find me,_ she says, sounding so miserable and defeated that he wants to shake her awake, tell her not to let him tear her down. There's so much he doesn't know, but even with that limited knowledge he can tell how far she's come, what a life she's managed to build for herself. She can't crumble now and let it all collapse.

 

But once again he can't help but wonder what she suffered through, who her husband is. Sadly, he has a feeling that this time she'll be forced to give him answers. Not by him – he'd never push her for those answers - but by the circumstances she's being forced into by the very man she tried to escape.

 

_Ain't gonna let him bother y'again,_ he whispers, feeling the soft curls of her auburn hair under his callused palm when he rests it against the back of her head. _I promise._ It's a promise he has no real right to make, and one he shouldn't make, not unless he plans to attach her to his hip and never let her out of his sight – but he'll try his damn hardest to keep it anyway, no matter what it costs him.

 

_Carol?_ Rick's voice sounds hesitant behind them and Carol moves enough to peek over his shoulder. All the while her grip on him does not ease. _They're heading back to the station now. You're gonna have to come in tomorrow._ Rick takes in the sight of them, Daryl notices when he turns to look at the man. There's no judgment in his expression, even though he's sure there's a hint of surprise lingering under his stoic look.

 

_Okay,_ Carol says solemnly, trying to sound strong and swallowing her tears. _Thank you, Rick._

 

Rick nods, already turning to leave. Suddenly, Daryl feels bad for how he spoke to him earlier. _Hey,_ he calls, stopping Rick just by the front door. _Thanks._ He nods, a stiff moment that is laced with the memories of a long and difficult history they share.

 

But he doesn't dwell on that now. Instead, he turns back to Carol, looking down at her and smoothing his hand down her arm. Slowly, she eases back into the embrace, pressing herself to him as much as her stomach allows. Her fingers ease their grip on him eventually, splaying loosely over his back and ghosting almost absent-mindedly across the nape of his neck.

 

_Daryl?_ The sound of his name has him shivering, a pleading tone to her voice that he wishes wasn't necessary. _Can you stay here tonight?_ She sounds so shy, so hesitant to even ask. Her face is still buried against his chest so that he can't see her face, almost as if she fears nothing more right now than his rejection. _Please._

 

His heart still beats raggedly, but anger is gradually replaced by nervousness. All he wants is to help, but he doesn't know quite how.

 

Slowly, he rests his hand on her cheek, slow enough for her to pull away should he cross a line. But she doesn't. Instead, she leans into the touch and he cups her cheek in his palm properly, the skin warm and damp. He wipes a tear away with the pad of his thumb, wishing he could have been here to prevent the tears from ever spilling in the first place.

 

_Ain't goin' nowhere,_ he murmurs, resting his chin on the crown of her head as her breathing slowly turns even.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I obviously needed to get rid off the Ed problem, hence the pinch of angst here. But now that that's taken care of, we can move forward with these two.


	11. starting over

He doesn't get much rest that night. Instead he lies awake on her couch, arms crossed over his chest, staring at the wooden panels on the ceiling. The ones she wants to paint white to light up the room. He'll do that tomorrow. Or maybe the day after. He'll do it soon if it'll make her happy.

 

Staring into the darkness, Daryl listens to every sound. The howling of the wind that rattles the shutters. The creaking wood of the old house that tells scary stories.

 

Mercifully, one sound is missing, and that is Carol's crying. It had stopped hours ago, and after that she went to sleep quickly. Her bedroom door left ajar, he can see the faint glow of her bedside lamp through the crack when he peeks up the stairs.

 

He hopes she'll find some rest and that the day's events won't replay in her sleep, haunting her.

 

And if they do, he'll be right here to chase them away.

 

* * *

 

A warm touch to his arm stirs him from his sleep, fleeting enough not to startle him. The soft whisper of his name sounds as if it came straight from his dream, but when he slowly opens his eyes to warm sunlight, everything is all too real.

 

Carol looks exhausted, her eyes lined with red and framed by dark circles, and she sits down on the edge of the couch with a weary smile, holding a steaming mug out for him. The scent that fills the air promises coffee and when Daryl sits up a little and takes the mug from her, he's not disappointed.

 

_Thank you,_ Carol murmurs as he takes the first sip of scolding hot coffee, still sounding so shy and terrified. _For staying._

 

Sitting up a little more so that he's half leaning against the back of the couch, he wipes the sleep from his eyes with a lazy swipe of his hand. _Course. How'd ya sleep?_

 

With a sigh Carol focuses her gaze towards her lap, still wearing a pair of thick and fluffy looking pajamas. _All right, I guess,_ she replies, casting him a very brief and preoccupied glance before looking away again. _I...You probably have some questions._ Her fingers fidget nervously against her thigh, and from what little he can make out of her face she looks almost afraid of what she might have to explain to him now. She doesn't owe him a thing, though.

 

But he's not quite brave enough to actually be determined enough to say that, and so he takes another sip of coffee to give himself more time to reply. It's black the way he prefers and it almost makes him smile knowing that Carol remembered that, that she pays attention to what he says and does. But now is not the time to linger on those thoughts.

 

_Not as many as ya think._ Her eyes are full of surprise when she looks up, and it's easy to figure out he'll have to be more specific. That he has to open up a little to make all of this easier on her. The mere idea sends a shudder through his body.

 

_I kinda..._ The words evade him then. He doesn't want to sound like a creep who stared at her long enough to make assumptions that sadly turned out to be true. _Well, wasn't all that hard to figure out, ya know?_ She doesn't seem to understand and he bites the inside of his cheek, fingers curling more tightly around the hot mug. _Ya was so scared of that car, of him. Never talked 'bout him. Kinda seemed like ya moved here in a rush. Wasn't that hard ta figure out he..._ He stops then, carefully weighing his next words. _He hurt ya somehow._

 

He panics a little when fresh tears dwell in Carol's eyes, and even though she's quick to wipe them away a stray one spills over and trails down her cheek.

 

Never before has he admitted this to anyone. Not to school nurses or police officers or his own brother, not to Dale or the guys at work. Never. It's his own secret, shared with nobody now that the old man is six feet under. Only it was never truly a secret. People must have known all along what he endured behind closed doors, but nobody ever heard his silent screams or gave a damn. Not even his own brother who he can only assume suffered the same fate.

 

_And... I kinda..._ A lump forms in his throat that even another sip of coffee can't wash down, but he swallows it, watching the white of his knuckles pushing through. _Kinda know what I'm talking about._

 

For a few seconds, the air between them is absolutely still and he holds his breath. Like a gun shot fired he waits in painful slow motion for it to hit. When it does, Carol gasps softly, an expression of sadness rather than surprise.

 

_Your scars,_ she whispers, and from the corner of his eyes he can see her hands finally stilling. _I was wondering._ That day she saw him after his shower, he'd never offered her an explanation for the mess of scars on his chest. Never told her any of his made up stories. Instead, he'd hoped in silence that she would accept them as mementos of accidents and clumsiness and that the tell-tale, angry ridges on his back had gone unnoticed.

 

He dares a brief glimpse at her. She looks lost in thought, trailing a lazy hand delicately over the swell of her stomach.

 

_Maybe I should have said something sooner,_ she wonders, talking more to herself than him. But there is blame lining her words, too. Blame that is aimed at herself and he can't stand the bitter taste of it. Without giving himself time to be afraid he reaches out to rest his hand against her forearm, just above her wrist. It's a chaste touch but it shatters a wall for him, and he feels as exposed as he did that day when he stood in front of her half naked.

 

_Hey, 's all right,_ he reassures her with a quiet voice, only now realizing how sleep-riddled and hoarse he still sounds. _I get it, not wantin' ta talk about it. I can't..._ Speaking about it is physically painful, like icy fingers squeezing mercilessly around his throat. _Never have._

 

Even through the cotton of her pajamas she feels warm, melding to his touch. Embracing her yesterday had been pure instinct, something he didn't question at all when it happened. But now it's his own choice, and he can't recall the last time he touched another person because he wanted to, a touch that went beyond a courteous handshake.

 

Carol's expression is gentle, a curious mixture of sadness, pity and defeat. Then, tenderly, she shifts until his fingers ghost over her upturned palm. The moment they interlace feels like a key sliding into a lock.

 

_I can't talk about it, either._ Her voice breaks halfway through as memories haunt her face, and at this point all Daryl can do is hope she didn't suffer the same degree of physical violence he did or even more. Shuddering at the mere thought and the blurry memories of red hot pain, he brushes his thumb slowly over the back of her hand, mesmerized that she lets him do this. That it seems to ease her discomfort.

 

_Y'ain't gotta,_ reassures her. It's what he needs her to understand more than anything, more than any foolish promise that he'll try to keep her safe. Whatever lies ahead of them, he won't ever force her to tell him something she's not ready for. And from his own experience, he knows that there are too many things she might never be ready to face.

 

Setting down his coffee – never letting go of her hand – he tosses his next words around in his head for a while. Something else he feels she must know, but something that costs him all his courage to say. What of she'll laugh? Refuse? Call him an idiot for thinking she might ever want to... _But I'm here if ya wanna talk about it some day,_ he mutters, throwing caution to the wind.

 

But she doesn't laugh, doesn't tell him he's a fool. Instead, she smiles weakly, still reeling from all that happened, and squeezes his hand. _Thank you._

 

* * *

 

He drives her to the police station an hour later, not wanting her to have to handle it all alone. For the first time since they met, Carol agrees without apologizing beforehand, without brushing off his offer, without trying to gently talk him out of it. She simply accepts with a grateful smile and a brush of her hand against his arm – so natural, like he's the type of person someone would like to touch just because they can.

 

At the station, there isn't a whole lot he can do for her. As much as he'd like to help, this is something that she has to handle mostly on her own.

 

So he waits outside as she talks to the officers, Rick leading her inside the room with a kind smile and a curt not in Daryl's direction. She calls him in when the interview is over, and he sits perched on an uncomfortable metal chair as she signs paperwork. Overhears something about a preexisting restraining order that was violated and he feels even more anger boiling inside of him for not stepping in sooner. The urge to march over to the holding cells and smash Ed Peletier's face in – finally putting a name to a still faceless demon – is becoming almost unbearable to control. But he holds back his rage, knows that more violence is the very last thing Carol needs in her life.

 

Instead, he takes a deep breath, gently rests a hand against the small of her back when she moves to stand, balancing herself with shaky hands against a worn table.

 

 

 

They pick up lunch on the way home, both of their stomachs growling after having skipped breakfast this morning. But neither of them had had much of an appetite, picking at the toasts she'd pulled from the cupboard without much interest.

 

_Maybe I'm finally free now. Maybe it's really over,_ Carol says, breaking the silence they'd been submerged in for the last ten minutes since she told him what she wanted to eat, and before that they hadn't exchanged a single word after leaving the station. It hadn't been a loaded silence, though. Now, she sounds hopeful, looking out of the window as the quaint neighborhood passes by, her fingers tracing the knot in the plastic bag that holds their food.

 

_'m sure it is._ He wants it to be true for her sake. And maybe it really is over. But he doesn't know if she'll ever be _free_. He has tried for so long to break the chains that his childhood left behind on him, but the phantom pain of them remains, shackling him to his quiet, sober life of solitude.

 

Carol sighs, shaking her head softly and cradling her stomach. It's protective and caring in nature, almost like an embrace she can't yet give her child. _I just wanted to start over,_ she wonders out loud, sounding like she's talking about a long lost friend, delirious in a sense of nostalgia. _Be who I always wanted to be. Give my baby a good life._

 

Yesterday must have somehow proven to her that she failed in all those attempts, but that couldn't be further from the truth. _Ya will,_ Daryl insists, slowing the car down as a small group of kids crosses the road a few houses down. _Y'already did. Start over._

 

From his periphery, he can see her eyeing him for a long moment, a blush creeping into his cheeks. Then, she looks away again. The silence that follows doesn't last long, though, and when she speaks again her voice is quiet and shy, like she was struggling with the question all this time. _How about you? All of it... Did you ever start over?_

 

He isn't one to praise himself, and it ain't like he made much of himself. But he made _something_ of himself. Went back to finish school, cut ties with his brother, kept a proper job all these years. He may never shake his family's shadow off his shoulders, but he's done everything he can to not let it become his shadow, too.

 

The demons that lurk in it, though, are ones he still has not been able to shake.

 

_'m still tryin'._

 


	12. savannah

In the days following her ex husband's arrest, they spend increasingly more time at Daryl's house. He knows there's a reason for it rather than coincidence, but he doesn't want to push or overstep an invisible line. The walls between them, the many lines they both tried to draw, have been blurred massively since his confession, and it only makes navigating what they have more difficult.

 

For a few days, Carol tries hard to remain casual, to appear like she's at ease, even though he gets the feeling she's fleeing her own house every time she shows up on his doorstep.

 

Eventually, around a week after, she reveals her true motive without any prompting from him. What he hears comes as no surprise. That she doesn't feel safe there anymore, that even though Ed is being charged for violating the restraining order, she still feels like he's looming over her shoulder. That she'll never be rid off him.

 

_It'll feel safe again soon,_ Daryl tries to reassure her, dropping a tea bag into an empty cup as the kettle whistles.

 

Carol sighs, pressing her hands into the small of her back like she does more and more often these days, carrying tension there that he wishes he could ease somehow. _I just wish I could get out of here for a while,_ she says, lifting herself onto a bar stool with much effort as he pours the hot water into her waiting cup. _See something else. I'm in there so much, it's like the house is eating me alive._

 

She laughs without humor at her own words and there's so much frustration to her tired expression that Daryl can't stop himself from saying his next words, instantly wanting to slap himself when they burst from his mouth, unhinged. _Let's do it, then._

 

Carol looks a bit startled, the whole thing about getting out of the house probably just a fleeting idea that he took too seriously. He can't get over how much of an idiot he is around her, and he wonders day in and day out why she bothers with him at all. _What?_ she asks, clearly still confused.

 

He knows she won't let him back out of this now that he said it, and so he stutters through an explanation, his fingers fumbling nervously with the tea bag to keep himself busy and give himself a reason not to look at her for too long. _Let's drive somewhere. Get outta here, test the Cherokee for a bit._

 

_Where would I go?_ He feels a little offended when she sounds like she genuinely believes he suggested for her to travel alone. Not that she couldn't do it – hell, she moved halfway across the state with a baby on the way all on her own, she could damn well take a fucking day trip by herself. But that ain't the most reasonable idea and it ain't what he had in mind.

 

_Y'ain't gotta go alone,_ he suggests with a quiet voice, cheeks flaming like they do too often these days. He's grateful for the brief distraction offered when he hands her the pleasantly warm mug of tea.

 

_Oh._ The sound is breathy and full of wonder when she realizes what he really meant, hands lingering in the air, fingers curled around the mug, before she finally sets it down with the barest hint of a sigh. _Daryl, you don't have to do that._ He can feel her penetrating gaze, full of intention, and it makes him squirm in his spot behind the counter, eyes briefly flickering up to hers before focusing on the tiled floor instead.

 

Her brief willingness to accept his help after the mess with Ed has faded into dust and she is back to always carefully trying to talk him out of any help he's so willingly offering. Same with the damn ceiling in her living room that he suggested he paint for her the other day. She'd waved him off, dismissed it as detail work that could wait a few months. It's a behavior too ingrained in her to shrug off so easily.

 

Sad thing is that he knows he'd react the same way if anybody actually bothered offering him help. And he sure as hell ain't ever asking for it.

 

_I wanna,_ he reassures her, silently wondering if she'll ever believe him. _Haven't been outta town for ages._ Now that he's started this mess, he figures he should probably make a proper suggestion. He is scrambling for an idea – any idea – when suddenly an old memory hits him. _Y'ever been to Savannah?_

 

Carol gently shakes her head. _No. That's quite the drive._

 

He went to the city once with Merle a very long time ago, was barely legal back then. They'd spent a few days there after driving two rented bikes there across nearly empty back roads. Merle had just been out of jail, for once off drugs, and it had been some of those days when Daryl naively thought his big brother might actually change. That small flicker of hope hadn't lasted long when he found out Merle had only taken him to try and involve him in some of his dirty business, but his memories of the city were never tainted by that.

 

_'s all right if we leave early._ It really is a bit far for a day trip but he doesn't want to suggest staying there overnight, and he doesn't know if he can get two days off anyway. Besides, he knows she doesn't make a habit of sleeping in. Every morning when he leaves for work in the dark the lights in her windows are already switched on, and even on the days she's working he knows she doesn't have to be at the library until eleven.

 

Most of the time, he doesn't dwell on the reasons she gets up so early (hopes they're as trivial as back pain and whatever else pregnant women have to put up with, and not as grave as his own reasons for waking in the dead of night – sleep makes you vulnerable, and for over a decade of his life he'd done all he could to avoid being that). _Ya gonna really like it there,_ he says, pulling himself out of his thoughts, trying to ease his own suddenly sullen mood. _Place is haunted._

 

Carol snorts a little at that and he hopes it means she's warming up to the idea a little. She takes a careful sip of her tea, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. _Fantastic. I can take a demon home as a souvenir._ Her lips curl into a grin, a little sparkle dancing in her blue eyes.

 

_Stop,_ he says half-heartedly but with a small smile. _Plenty o' little shops, too._ He can picture her there perfectly, on cobblestone streets and under the shade of large oak trees, breathing the breeze of the sea and exploring little shops tucked away from the busy city life.

 

Her eyebrows lift and she tilts her head. _Now you have my attention._

 

* * *

 

He manages to get a day off the following week, although he has to promise Axel to work the next two Saturdays for him. It's a bitter pill to swallow because he doesn't usually work on weekends anymore, but he doesn't even hesitate to agree.

 

And so, on Tuesday morning when most of their neighbors are still asleep, only a few people making their way to their cars in the dark to head for work, they climb into the Cherokee and head towards the highway.

 

Very quickly, Daryl realizes that this might have been his idea but Carol is much better at the execution, pulling two paper bags full of food from her bag an hour into their drive. He completely forgot about that, would have been happy with a shitty paper cup of coffee from a ratty rest stop. But she's thought of that, too, and he thanks her with a mouthful of tiny, fluffy pancake when she pours him an actual black, strong coffee from a thermos.

 

She'd asked him to drive, admitting that she's starting to get uncomfortable behind the wheel with her belly ever growing. He doesn't mind, although he hisses out more than a few curses when everything slows down for a while as people head into work, crowding the highway as the sun slowly begins to melt the dark of the night away.

 

Most of the drive, they spend in silence, but when they get stuck in traffic just outside of Macon Carol seems to warm up to the idea of a conversation. Weaving careful questions, she manages to tickle some details out of him from his last trip to the city so long ago. He doesn't mention his brother, not because he thinks she'd interrogate him about him but also not wanting to bring this up when they're stuck in a car for a good long while.

 

Eventually, after he's told her pretty much all he remembers, they grow quiet, and Carol turns up the volume on the radio when some awful 80s tune comes on, tilting her head to the beat and making him huff out a laugh.

 

It's not funny for long when she turns up the volume a bit more each time an especially shitty song comes on, clearly getting a kick out of teasing him.

 

By the time they reach the city, she's humming along to _K_ _arma Chameleon_ and he's sure he is just one song away from bleeding out of his ears.

 

* * *

 

All in all, it doesn't go at all like he planned and imagined. He shouldn't be surprised, though. Catching him off guard is what Carol does best, after all. He expected that they'd stroll around town for a bit, that Carol would love the small, tucked away shops selling odds and ends and that she'd enjoy the wispy atmosphere of the city. That she'd succumb to the charm of the old buildings, the rich green of the trees, breathe in the smell of the nearby ocean, that they'd grab some food. Instead, Carol positively _bursts_ with excitement, taking complete control and there's nothing he can do about it.

 

They have been out of the car for barely twenty minutes when she drags him onto a damn blue tour trolley, exclaiming with flying colors that that way they'll see more of the city without her having to walk too much. He disgruntledly agrees, figuring that it really would spare her feet a lot of trouble.

 

Ten minutes later, he finds himself on a hard bench in an ancient trolley car with Carol leaning half on his lap to watch out of the open window as some dude goes on and on about the city's history. He's pointing out this and that from Forsyth Park to City Market to Ellis Square and Carol soaks it all up with curious eyes, hushes small comments every now and then, but he doesn't listen to her or their guide. He's too distracted by her being so close, her shoulder pressing into his, her knees nudged against his thigh, the sweet smell of her, the sight of her pale but slightly flushed cheeks dotted in freckles.

 

After a while, even not listening properly is getting exhausting, though. Not even Carol's unbridled enthusiasm can quite sell him on this tour and he starts making comments, first out of annoyance and boredom, but then Carol actually starts stifling her laughter at them, giggling into her hand and it's the cutest thing. The way her nose crinkles and her eyes shine is mesmerizing and so he just keeps going. Really, though, he wishes they could get off this damn bus, move their feet and enjoy the mild day, the gentle breeze.

 

_I swear if he's gonna tell one more ghost story 'm gonna haunt his ass,_ he groans, dragging his finger over a ridge in the window frame as their guide – he thinks his name was Shawn but who cares – brings up yet another haunted house.

 

Carol chuckles, nudging her knee against his thigh playfully. _Don't be mean._ She doesn't sound very sincere, but they both grow quiet after that, watching the old houses pass by, telling silent stories of their own. _Let's get off at the next stop,_ Carol says then, smiling at him when he turns to look at her.

 

He feels bad now for talking shit about this tour when she'd been so eager about it, and now she wants to get off because she thinks he hates it. And he doesn't. Really doesn't because she likes it and she's right here and he'd stare at a shitty painting in a dusty museum for three days straight if she was with him. _We ain't gotta._ He sits up a bit straighter as if to prove a point, but Carol is already gathering her bag up from where she tucked it between her feet earlier.

 

_It's okay,_ she reassures him, craning her neck to look out the front. _We can get back on later, remember?_

 

He does remember, the tickets valid for going on and off the trolleys all day long. _Great,_ he huffs halfheartedly as the trolley slows down to a stop, their guide briefly interrupting his ghost story to explain their current location.

 

_You're a shitty liar, too,_ Carol says with a grin as she pulls herself to her feet with her hands on the back of the seat in front of her. She's so wobbly on her feet lately that he feels even worse for being so sour, but her words and grin are distracting enough.

 

_Wasn't even tryin',_ he mutters as he follows her down the aisle, blushing a furious shade of red when she turns her head to look at him over her shoulder with a devious glint in her eyes.

 

* * *

 

_Come on._

 

_No way._

 

_Daryl, it'll be nice._

 

_Nah, thanks._

 

_I didn't drive twenty minutes out here for you to be all grumpy._

 

She sounds positively annoyed with him by now, pressing her hands into her hips to make her frustration clear. They are standing on picture perfect postcard white sand on Tybee Island, the rush of the ocean so close that it causes the small hairs at the back of his neck to stand, the smell of it filling his lungs. Fresh and salty and _free_ in his nostrils.

 

Standing just a few feet away from him, Carol is looking more and more exasperated.

 

_Ain't grumpy,_ he insists, kicking at some sand with the toe of his boot.

 

She snorts at that, raising her eyebrows sky high and dammit she's kinda right. He doesn't mind the beach at all, but why does he have to go _in_? It's December for crying out loud, ain't the time to go for a dip. _Yes you are,_ she insists, her usually soft eyes suddenly fierce. _Now get in. It's not like I'm asking you to do a striptease right here. Just take off your shoes._ She sounds completely nonchalant about it and he only scoffs, not planning to take anything off right here right now.

 

_You go._ He points at the water lapping on the sand, knowing he'll be perfectly content to stand here and wait for her to damn well freeze her feet off. But she shakes her head defiantly, looking furiously determined and he knows he won't be able to stand his ground much longer. Especially because even he understands that he ain't got a good reason not to do it despite really not seeing the point. In the summer, hell yes, but not now.

 

Of course she waves off his suggestion, steadfast in her determination to get what she wants and that seems to be giving him pneumonia. _No, I'm not going alone. What if I slip and fall?_

 

Her whole face lights up mischievously because she knows she's playing her trump card right now, cradling her stomach to really make a point. _Dammit, come one then,_ he mutters under his breath, marching forward to the water.

 

The mischief on her face is replaced by excitement and one of those smiles he cherishes so much. Quickly catching up with him, she reaches for him and links her arm around his for balance as they head over the uneven sand towards the water. _Thank you._

 

In the end, it's not as cold as he feared.

 

 

 

Nothing has ever felt better than the water lapping at his feet. Their shoes lie abandoned on the sand behind them, their pants rolled up to their knees. Every now and then they soak up splashes of the salty water, but neither of them is bothered by it when the waves crest against their shins and the sun is glimmering on the ocean surface. Above them, the sky is a perfect shade of powder blue.

 

Carol is still holding on to him, her arm linked with his to keep her balance and he does his best to make sure she doesn't lose her footing on the slick sand. But her grip has eased and now he wonders if she's just holding on for no reason at all. A gentle touch that sends a shiver through him, her other hand casually coming to rest against his forearm.

 

_It's beautiful here,_ she breathes in awe. Then, slow enough to not scare him and quick enough to not give him time to jolt, she rests her head against his shoulder. Everything inside of him twists in two directions, staying here like this forever or running as far away as fast as he can.

 

_Yeah,_ he agrees with a thick voice, the word stuck in his throat as he remains immobile. _It is._

 

Carol's thumb draws a lazy circle over his wrist, a touch so tender and innocent that it shouldn't make him feel as lightheaded as he does – or maybe it's just the fresh air getting to his head. _We have to come back here one day._ She pauses then when she seems to realize the implication that they could go back here _together_ one day. Tilting her head up, she looks at him with curiosity and a hint of fear and he meets her gaze bravely. _I mean-_ She tries to backpedal but he doesn't let her, not this time.

 

_We will,_ he reassures her. It's perfectly easy to imagine them coming back here in the future, maybe in late spring with her little girl, maybe in a few years when the kid can actually dive into the waves. Quickly, his thoughts spiral out of control and he sobers a bit because where is he in all those scenarios? What could his place possibly be? So, he pushes the idyllic thoughts away, focuses instead on carol's shy smile and the feeling of her warm, soft body against his when she leans back against his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

They spend a little more time at the beach, feeling the water and sand between their bare toes before grabbing their shoes and strolling around for a while. Exploring some of the mostly nautical themed shops, browsing through odds and ends and buying cheesy souvenirs. After both their stomachs growl loudly passing one of the many restaurants, they grab lunch, taking the leftovers with them. Stuffing coconut shrimps into his mouth, Daryl keeps his arm linked with Carol's as they walk down the beach. She's nibbling on a last slice of cheesy pizza, pointing out the birds in the sky and the colorfully painted houses they pass.

 

She looks so happy and content here, fitting right in, that Daryl doesn't ever want to leave and makes a silent vow to take her back here one day, just like she suggested. No matter how he'll fit into the picture then.

 

 

 

Eventually, though, they decide to head back downtown, so many things left to explore. The early afternoon sun is warming their exposed skin as they stroll around the Historic District, stopping every now and then to take in the sight of the impressive houses. It feels, for a few wondrous seconds, as if they traveled back in time.

 

When Carol begins to shift her weight from side to side, clearly beginning to grow tired, they head to Forsyth Park, making a short stop at Colonial Park Cemetery on the way there. The old gravestones and ominous silence of the place nearly makes him shiver, and Carol is quick to tug him away, casting suspicious glances at the many moss covered gravestones and statues.

 

They find a quiet spot in the large park, sitting down on a bench with simultaneous sighs. The wood is a little worn and the paint chipped, but it feels like the most comfortable place in the world. Above them, a large oak tree offers them some shade, and on the wide lawn before them two dogs are playing excitedly, tangling their leashes over and over much to the dismay of their owners.

 

_Always wanted a dog,_ Daryl reveals, watching the two chasing each other across the rich green grass with wiggling tails. It's been a dream of his since he was a boy. A dream he was never able to fulfill.

 

He can feel Carol's eyes on him, sees her looking at him from his periphery. _Why didn't you ever get one?_

 

There have been so many reasons piling up over the years. First it was Merle, who he wouldn't want anywhere near anything or anyone he cares about. Then it was money. Then it was living in a crappy apartment. When he moved into the house it was a matter of being at work so much, of not being able to take the dog with him, and over time, the dream manifested as a regret. _Was never the right time,_ he explains simply, toying with a loose seam on the knee of his jeans.

 

When Carol doesn't respond to him for a moment, he thinks that she accepted his answer, as superficial as it had been. He leans back against the bench a bit more, only know realizing the burn on the soles of his feet from walking so much. He never feels this exhausted when he's in the woods, making his way through the thickness of trees for hours and hours.

 

_I don't think there's ever a right time for anything,_ Carol says then, oddly quiet, and he turns to see her kneading her hands where they rest on her stomach. _At least I don't think that anymore._ Something ghosts over her face then. It's not fear this time but rather regret, like an old memory haunting her, teasing her. She swallows, looking at him with a forced smile. _You should get one._

 

_Ya gonna talk me into that?_ he asks, deciding to play along instead of asking whether she once was the kind of person who believed in something like a right time (although he can picture her like that, full of hope for the future, bursting with plans and dreams only to have them all crushed in a sweaty, angry palm).

 

_Maybe,_ she quips, some real warmth slowly seeping into her smile. _I love dogs and I'd love to have one. But I'm about to have a baby, that's definitely the wrong time._

 

His forehead furrows a little, processing her words. Words that had been easily spoken. _So, there ain't right times but there's wrong times?_

 

She looks at him for a long, long moment her eyes sharp and as blue as the sky. But she looks sad all of a sudden. Turning away from him, she whispers her next words, and they feel like a punch in the gut. _I'm afraid so._

 

He's not fool enough to think they're still talking about dogs.

 

* * *

 

It's Carol who suggests grabbing dinner when the sun begins to go down, tinting the sky in a perfect rosy shade, reminding him of the blush on her cheeks. Strolling through the many tucked away roads, passing the towering cathedral on the way, Carol eventually spots a place that draws her in, called _The Firefly_.

 

The inside isn't really like any place he'd feel comfortable in. Cushy chairs and fairy lights, candles and furniture like out of an old story. But he's hungry as hell and Carol seems to really love it, and so they let the polite waitress show them to a table in the back. The place isn't all that busy but he's still glad to be seated a little bit away from the other customers.

 

The chair is almost too comfortable, giving in to his weight, the fabric fluffy to the touch. With growling stomachs they ponder over the menu for a while, neither of them in a rush to get this dinner over with.

 

As they wait for their food, Carol begins to tell him a little bit about her childhood – unprompted from him. Fingers toying with a candle holder scattered in shards of colorful glass, she tells him about growing up in Kentucky, about her parents dying in a car accident when she was a teenager. Enough years have passed for her to reveal this without much grief dampening her mood, but she does seem preoccupied, and he wonders why she's telling him all this. It ain't like he's not interested. Hell, he could listen to her all day, wants to know everything he can. But if talking about all this makes her uncomfortable he'd rather they slip into the comfortable, embracing silence they have mastered so well.

 

But Carol continues, telling him about living with her grandparents for a while before moving to Atlanta after marrying Ed. Right out of high school. That's where she ends her story, and he can fill in the blank pages that follow all too well by himself.

 

She doesn't force him to open up about his own childhood, but he feels like he owes her at least a little honesty. Keeping his own story rather short, he avoids any mention of his family's reputation, tells her some of the few fond memories he has of his childhood. His father taking him hunting when he was having a good day, his mother's hot chocolate that she'd make him sometimes (so rarely, only on those days she hadn't drunk herself into a stupor). Small things like that, safe topics.

 

In the end, he's grateful when their food arrives and they fall silent. Neither of them has many happy stories to tell and so he'd rather focus on the here and now – on many happy memories in the making.

 

 

 

Afterwards, when they are achingly full of pasta and bread and desert, they head down to River Street. The sun has gone down entirely now, and the many lights of the city reflect on the water, the cobble stone uneven beneath their feet. They walk past old building and busy restaurants, past chattering groups of people.

 

It's been a long, long day and by the time they head back towards her car, Carol isn't even trying to hide her yawns anymore. He feels just as tired, exhausted, but in a good way. Like muscles that have finally been stretched after being forgotten for too long. Like eating too large of a meal after going hungry. It's too much good to take in all at once, overwhelming, but so sweet.

 

Carol falls asleep barely twenty minutes after they head out of the city, looking peaceful and calm where she leans her head against the backrest. He turns down the music to a minimum, just enough to keep himself awake as he heads down the nearly empty highway.

 

In the relative silence, he has too much room to think. Whatever good memories he had of his last trip to the city, they pale in comparison to how he feels now, light and happy. He doesn't have a name for the foreign feeling that purrs deep inside him, warm and fuzzy. Well, he _thinks_ he knows what it is and what to call it but he doesn't dare admit that even to himself. Briefly, he glances at Carol, her hand resting protectively on her belly even in her sleep and he sighs, remembering what she said about right and wrong times.

 

Looking back to the road, he feels consumed by the wish that they could have met at a time that wasn't so awfully wrong.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for keeping you guys waiting. I hope the chapter is worth it :)


	13. it's beginning to look a lot like christmas

_The hell do ya need a tree for?_

 

With mild confusion, Daryl stares at the empty spot next to Carol's fireplace. The very spot that is usually occupied by her arm chair, but she'd pushed that aside before he came over, proudly announcing that she made room for a Christmas tree.

 

Carol eyes him with a slightly dumbfounded expression, looking completely ridiculous in her knitted sweater that's far too short for her by now, a sliver of her red tank top peeking out where it's stretched over her stomach. _It's Christmas, Daryl,_ she explains as if he's stupid and forgot all about it, softly shaking her head in disbelief.

 

_Y'ain't even got a kid, yet._

 

_Christmas trees are not just for kids._ She sounds a little annoyed with him for his lack of holiday spirit and starts digging back into the cardboard box full of fairly lights and garlands and other useless shit that she'd dragged down from the attic all by herself after he dragged it up there a few months ago. _Don't tell me you're not getting one._

 

_The hell for?_ He's never had a Christmas tree in his life. Sure as hell not as a kid when Christmas was a day just as shitty as any other. And he never saw the point later in life. The sight of them only ever made him remember how sad it always made him feel as a kid when he was walking down the street, seeing the colorful trees in other people's windows. And what would be the point of getting one now? To buy himself presents, wrap them up and tuck them under the tree?

 

_What for?_ Carol repeats in disbelief. _Daryl, come on. They're pretty._ She's pulling a string of tree-shaped fairy lights from the box, untangling them with delicate fingers.

 

_Whatever,_ he huffs, sitting down on her couch with a heavy exhale.

 

_Well, I will get one._ She sounds terrifyingly determined, pouting at him. That doesn't last long though when the knots in the string of lights won't budge and she groans instead. _I don't need your approval._

 

He snorts at that, trying and failing to imagine a universe where she lets him boss her around. _Course not, but I still think it's a stupid idea._

 

_Too bad I don't care,_ she says, casting the lights onto the coffee table in frustration. Then, defiantly, she crosses her arms in front of her chest which is becoming more difficult with how huge her stomach has been getting and therefore looks hilarious more than intimidating.

 

He knows that she could look intimidating if she wanted to. That there's a fierceness to her and a fire that simmers under a gentle surface.

 

His forehead furrows and he leans back into the couch a bit more. _Keep tellin' yourself that._

 

Instantly he's taken aback by his own boldness and he doesn't miss the way Carol bites her lip and looks down. It's something that happens around her too often, slips like these. But he knows by now that trying to back out of it would only make it worse and so he tries to steer the conversation back to its roots. _So, when are we doin' this?_

 

It takes Carol a second too long to respond, and she looks genuinely confused. _What?_ It makes him wonder what the hell she thought telling him about all this would achieve.

 

_Were ya gonna drag it in here all by yourself?_

 

* * *

 

He is sweating like a pig, that's his main concern. Then there are his hands, red and raw from the bark and needles, and his damn lower back that aches.

 

But the hard work is done, and as he stands in Carol's living room and takes in the sight of the tree he just dragged in, towering over the fireplace, he feels a little proud.

 

_You really should have gotten one of the small ones,_ Carol reminds him again, her cheeks still flushed a furious red from spending hours out in the cold. She had tried relentlessly to talk him into getting a tree for himself, but just the sight of the tiny trees on offer was enough to make him even less enthusiastic about Christmas than he already is.

 

_Nah, yours is big enough for the both of us._

 

The flush on her cheeks increases, spreading down her neck which is exposed now that she took off her scarf. Making an innocent face, she reaches out to run her fingers carefully over a few needle speckled branches. _It's not that big._

 

She's either delusional or in serious denial because the damn tree is fucking huge, the tip of it merely a foot away from grazing the ceiling. Excessive for just one person, more suited for a family of five. But it's the one she'd wanted and it's sure as hell not his place to judge. _Ya didn't carry it. Heavy as shit,_ he grunts, tilting his head from side to side until his neck pops loudly.

 

_Sorry,_ she mutters, looking genuinely sorry and more than a little embarrassed. That's not at all how he wanted her to feel, had just been trying to tease her. But he should know by now that that's something she excels and he fails at. He reaches out instead and nudges her arm awkwardly with his fist for a second before pulling back.

 

_'s all right,_ he reassures her, and he has to admit that the sight of it next to the brick fireplace is quite impressive. _So, we gonna put up all that shit?_ The box of Christmas decorations and ornaments still sits on the floor, filled to the brim.

 

_You want to help?_

 

_Well, I ain't got a tree to throw tinsel at, right?_ With aching bones he lifts himself from the couch, kneeling down on the thick, wildly patterned rug and starts digging into the box. The first thing that falls into his hand is a snowman shaped _something_ , pretty much the ugliest thing he's ever seen in his life. _Gotta make sure ya don't overdo it._

 

Carol chuckles, and he prides himself knowing he managed to distract her from the embarrassment he caused. Slowly, she scrambles to sit down on the floor next to him, huffing and puffing and grabbing first the coffee table and then his shoulder for support. He already knows he'll have to help her up later and how frustrated she'll be.

 

_Are you the Christmas tree police now?_ He just scoffs at that, pulling more stuff from the box as she unwraps a big plastic bag full of tinsel in all colors. _What's the punishment for too much tinsel?_ Giving him a rather theatrical wink, she nudges her shoulder against his, reaching into the bag to pull out a handful of golden string.

 

_Stop._

 

_Does it involve handcuffs?_ His eyes go wide for a moment, still in disbelief every time she blurts out something like this - making him blush like a damn virgin every fucking time - but he has learned to hide it well.

 

_Stop,_ he mutters again, clearing his throat and picking up a box of silver tree ornaments.

 

Carol laughs bright and clear, and he figures it's fitting that he's just spotted a small angel statue in the box, golden hair and white wings. But he has no time to dwell on any more cheesy thoughts when he's hit right on the head with a handful of tinsel, accompanied by a devious chuckle that only intensifies when he growls.

 

 

 

He finds half a dozen strands of gold nestled in his hair that night under the shower.

 

* * *

 

_Never?_

 

_No._

 

_Not once?_

 

Carol looks about as shocked as if he'd told her he's still a virgin (that wouldn't even really be a lie. ain't like he really is, but ain't like he's got much experience in that department, either so he might as well be). He swats those thoughts away, wondering why he strayed down that path in the first place. Ain't like it matters, ain't like Carol's going to find out one day that he's about as skilled as a teenage boy and - damn it.

 

_My folks weren't exactly the bakin' type,_ he explains with a low voice, trying not to let old demons creep up on him. They never celebrated Christmas when he was a kid. And neither his mom nor the old man ever bothered baking goddamn cookies. Hell, it was a good day when there was a warm meal on the table he didn't have to cook up himself, standing on a chair so he could reach the stove.

 

Carol shakes her head, caught somewhere between humor and genuine disbelief, closing the recipe book she'd been browsing through - handmade with a million magazine snippets and handwritten notes tucked between the thin pages. _Well, that's just unacceptable,_ she declares, climbing off the chair with labored breath. _Come on._

 

_Where are we goin'?_ he asks, confused, already following her through the living room.

 

_Shopping,_ she says plainly, grabbing her coat from the hook by the door.

 

 

 

_Daryl, stop. Stop. Just stop._

 

She's practically yelling at him and he nearly drops the bag of powdered sugar, dusting a whole lot of it all over her counter instead of in the bowl with the icing she told him to make.

 

_What?_ he asks, not understanding what the hell he did wrong. Mixing the lemon juice and sugar ain't exactly rocket science.

 

_That's way too much._ She grabs the bag from him and he hardly puts up a fight, although he feels a little hurt when she puts it extra far away from him. Wondering what on Earth he messed up, he eyes the icing. It looks pretty damn fine to him. _We could ice a wedding cake with that._

 

Looking up, his eyes catch the sugar that got stuck on her lips from tasting the dough for the next batch of cookies. It's more than a little distracting and he fights the urge to reach out and brush it away with his thumb. To taste how sweet it would be on her lips.

 

He tears his eyes away, stares at the icing he stirred instead. If he's being honest, he's quite proud of how smooth it looks. No lumps and nothing.

 

_Don't look that much._

 

Carol smiles softly, shaking her head and with quick fingers she snatches the bowl away from him. _Well, we've got enough now._

 

 

 

By the time they are icing the third baking tray full of cookies, Daryl starts to get a little tired. It's exhausting, although he's too stubborn to admit it.

 

Carol had ordered him to dye the icing in four different colors, and now he's been standing here with a brush for the past twenty minutes, staring at the different cookies shaped like Christmas trees and sugar cones and angels and doing his best to find his artistic streak. A few of them, however, have lost their shape a little and one in particular looks inappropriate and out of place. _This one looks a dick,_ he mutters under his breath.

 

_Daryl!_

 

_Sorry. 's true, though. Look,_ he says, pointing at the cookie in question with his brush and when Carol leans in to inspect it - smelling of sugar and butter and vanilla with flour still dusting her cheek - she instantly starts giggling.

 

_Okay, yes. You're right,_ she admits, poking at it with her finger. _We're not putting icing on_ that _._

 

He just shrugs, dipping his brush into the small bowl of green icing and beginning to work on a tree shaped cookie. _Whatever, I ain't eatin' it with or without it._

 

Carol is quiet for a moment and he can feel her eyes on him, looking up when the prickle of her stare at the base of his skull becomes too unbearable. _Are you serious?_ she asks, eyebrows sky high. She has abandoned her work of meticulously drawing polka dots on a heart-shaped cookie - whatever the hell that has to do with Christmas.

 

_I ain't eatin' a dick cookie,_ he snorts, willing to keep up this little staring contest she started for a little longer.

 

Carol doesn't break, shakes her head instead and allows her lips to turn into a wicked grin that sends a jolt of electricity down his spine. _Well, I'm not in the mood for it either._

 

They are both dead silent in the aftermath, staring at each other with equally wide eyes. Daryl can feel a flush washing over his neck and face and the tug low in his abdomen is undeniable when his thoughts drift into dangerous territory. When her throat bops as she swallows and her eyes drift down to his lips for a heartbeat.

 

_Stop._

 

* * *

 

His couch feels too hard compared to hers, too worn. His feet are propped up on his coffee table, the cup of coffee he made himself earlier cold unlike his laptop which is burning up on his lap. The skin of his thighs is probably red as a lobster by now but he doesn't care, instead keeps scrolling down and down and down and looking at everything and anything, still coming up empty.

 

He doesn't even know if he _should_ get her a present. If that's a weird thing to do. It boils down to not knowing at all how to define them. If they're friends, getting each other presents would probably be the right thing to do. But does she consider him a friend? Is friends all they are or too much? If they are just neighbors who get along well, then giving gifts might be a bit over the line. Is she thinking about getting him anything at all? Would he just end up making a fool of himself handing her a gift?

 

Not to mention that he has no clue what to get her. He checked out different recipe books but that seems boring, kitchen stuff would send the wrong message, he doesn't have the slightest clue about baby stuff. With a groan of frustration he browses through bath bombs and bracelets and candle holders but nothing seems right. Sure, she might _like_ some of that stuff, all right, but it seems random, pointless, weird.

 

By now his eyes are dry and burning and he looks away from the too bright screen for a moment. Outside, snow is falling in thick flakes that have not eased up since it started this morning, the lawn already covered in a thick layer of it. Christmas lights are draped over the porches of the other houses on the street, casting everything in a festive light.

 

Ready to admit defeat, Daryl shoves the laptop onto the empty spot next to him, frustrated with himself for suddenly thinking that all the lights actually make the street look softer, somehow. He has never before needed reminding that he hates Christmas, but it's what he tells himself now. Somehow, this year he feels like it _does_ mean something, and that only makes him want to find a gift for Carol even more.

 

Tired and frustrated he leans his head back against the couch and allows his strained eyes to drift shut. Memories of the last few months float through his mind, trying to recall anything Carol might have mentioned that she likes or needs but nothing comes to mind. Then suddenly, a thought hits him, a memory that still burns bright, and he sits up so quickly that his vision blackens for a second. Shutting his laptop and grabbing his key, he is out of the house within a minute.

 


	14. stay

The snow hasn't let up over the past few days, still falling in thick flakes from the sky, and so Daryl keeps his head down as he marches across Carol's front yard towards her house. Clutching her present to his chest, he can feel the rapid pounding of his heart against it.

 

It's Christmas day and the dim afternoon light barely fights its way through the clouds. He had made sure that there wasn't another car parked in front of her house before heading out. They hadn't talked about Christmas plans, so he wasn't sure if she has anyone over – if maybe she tried contacting what little remains of her family back in Kentucky. After all, he still doesn't know what exactly she did on Thanksgiving, and he hadn't wanted to bring that up after the events that tainted those days. Showing up at her doorstep unannounced and uninvited with her family over for a family celebration – just the thought of it makes him cringe and so he'd checked and double checked before leaving his house.

 

The thick layer of snow crunches under his boots, falling flakes tickling his nose. Carol's porch steps are covered in an inch of snow again after he cleared them for her yesterday afternoon. The last thing she needs is to slip on a treacherous layer of snow.

 

With freezing knuckles, he knocks on the door, his hands already raw from the cold. With every second that passes the cold settles more into his bones, and it takes a moment for the door to open. As time trickles past, it only makes him worry more that he's about to make a giant fool of himself.

 

When the door finally, finally opens, the sight of Carol stuns him into silence for a moment. She looks beautiful. Hell, she always does, but right now she looks like she actually _tried_. All dressed up with black tights that wrap around her stunning legs, a red dress that flutters loosely just above her knees, lips shimmering, her lashes somehow longer, her usually messy, outgrowing curls a little tamer, tucked into place, silver earrings dangling from her earlobes, and the biggest smile on her lips.

 

The only thing out of place are the thick, striped, knitted socks on her feet.

 

Suddenly, Daryl feels incredible under-dressed in his jeans, black sweater and muddy boots.

 

_Hey,_ he greets her, clearing his throat when the word gets stuck. _You eh... Got anyone over?_ She must have visitors, why else would she walk around her house like this? But much to his surprise, Carol shakes her head.

 

_No,_ she replies, wrapping her arms around herself and even from out here he can see the exposed skin of her forearms pulling tight, goosebumps erupting all over.

 

_Got'ya something._ He holds up the present as he speaks, the whole thing awfully wrapped.

 

But Carol smiles anyway and takes a few steps back. _Come in before you freeze to death._ Not needing to be asked twice, he hurries inside, instantly kicking off his boots by the door as to not drag too much mud and snow inside. Shrugging off his jacket, he feels the warmth of Carol's house welcoming him already. Snow melts in his hair and he brushes away the drops that trickle down his temple.

 

_Fuckin' cold,_ he mutters as Carol takes his jacket from him, carefully draping it over the back of a nearby chair she usually uses to place her handbags on. It's not hard to notice that she is lingering, straightening the collar of his jacket and wiping away melting snow flakes with her fingertips.

 

_I don't want to go out there._

 

_Y'ain't gotta._

 

Shaking her head, she breathes a sigh of relief. _Thank God. Come on, I just started a fire._ The scent of charred wood clings comfortably to the air, instantly easing some of the tension Daryl feels coiled in his muscles. Still, each step they make towards the crackling fireplace, his heart picks up speed. His skin, however, greedily absorbs the heat the fire offers. _You didn't have to get me anything,_ Carol says quietly when she comes to a stop next to the fireplace, smoothing her hands over her dress.

 

He expected her to say something like this, but still blushes. Avoiding direct eye contact, he looks at the Christmas tree instead, illuminated and brightly decorated. His finger nervously fumble with the gift and he forces himself to speak instead of bolt. _Wanted to._

 

Carol accepts that surprisingly quickly, smiling shyly and shifting her weight. _I got you something, too._

 

A part of him is surprised, another part glad because this means he wasn't completely delusional in thinking giving her a present would be fitting. He still raises his eyebrows, though and she laughs, blushing. _Didn't have ta,_ he repeats her earlier words, and she rolls her eyes. It was meant to be teasing but there's truth to it, too. A truth he's not going to linger on now.

 

_It's upstairs, let me grab it._

 

 

 

She comes wobbling back downstairs a minute later, carrying a rather large box in one arm while her free hand clutches the banister. The box is wrapped neatly in mossy green paper, a red bow tied around it and it only makes his own look even crappier - he did try though, even bought Christmas wrapping paper he'll never need again.

 

_Do you have plans?_ Carol asks as she reaches the bottom step, and now he can see that the box seems to be quite heavy. He refrains from telling her to just put it down, though, knowing how annoyed she gets when people tell her to stop doing something, to sit, to relax.

 

_Plans?_

 

Her cheeks are flushed and he has a feeling it's not just from the heat of the fire or the exertion of carrying his present down the stairs. _For today,_ she clarifies, briefly worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

 

The question is a little redundant considering everything he told her about his family, but he answers anyway. _Nah,_ he replies, shrugging his shoulders. He had hoped that he could spend some time with her before heading back to his place, maybe eat some of the leftover cookies she keeps in the jar in the kitchen. And then he'd do what he always does on Christmas. Sit in front of the television with whatever is left in his fridge. Just thinking about it is depressing, and he wonders how he made it all these years without being affected by it at all.

 

Carol slowly makes her way to the couch (always slow these days, groaning and moaning and sighing from the struggle of it all) and puts the present down on the coffee table. Whatever she is trying to say, she clearly struggles with it as she turns to face him. _Stay for dinner, then?_ she eventually asks, looking at him with a hopeful expression. _I don't have plans either._

 

Her offer comes completely unexpected, and Daryl freezes on the spot, the wheels in his head turning and turning. He feels nervous at the thought of spending Christmas with her - it only makes it that much harder to define what they are. But he wants to so badly, always wants to be with her, and she's already made all the Christmas stuff so much more endurable over the last few weeks. Still, despite her offer, it feels like he's pushing in.

 

_Only if ya lemme help ya,_ he says, quickly adding an explanation when Carol looks a little confused. _Y'always cookin' for me._ It is the one thing that has bothered him about her kindness and hospitality from the beginning. She's pregnant and alone, has to do everything herself even though he tries to help as much as he can with stuff she can't or shouldn't do, but this feels like the least he can offer.

 

_I don't mind,_ she reassures him, looking a little taken aback by his words.

 

_Please?_

 

She sighs, not in annoyance but in defeat, and nods. _Okay. And presents after?_ She throws a quick glance at the present he's still holding, lips curling into an excited smirk.

 

_Deal,_ he agrees with a nod and a smile, and he sets her present down on the coffee table right next to whatever she got for him. Carol is already heading over to the kitchen, socked feet barely making a sound on the hardwood floor. He follows her eagerly, suddenly feeling a childlike sense of excitement inside of him that's foreign and unexpected. _What are we having?_

 

_What are we having? What do you think?_

 

He wonders for a moment what could be this obvious, Carol's smile not fading. And then it hits him, and he hopes to God he's wrong. _Don't tell me ya bought a turkey._ Carol throws him another look over her shoulder, bottom lip sucked between her teeth as she pulls open the fridge to reveal the turkey inside.

 

Daryl stares at the size of it, everything else that was in the fridge cramped together to make room for it. _Were ya gonna eat that whole thing yourself?_ he asks with a snort, not even wanting to imagine her dragging this thing in from the car, or for how long she was planning on eating the leftovers.

 

Carol blushes furiously now, all the way across her neck and chest and down the neckline of her dress, but he tears his eyes away from that quickly. She wouldn't have noticed, though, not while she is looking down at her feet, wiggling her toes. _Well, I was kind of... I hoped you'd come over. Was going to call you,_ she admits quietly, once again smoothing her palms over her dress.

 

Her words hit him like a freight train. Every fiber of his being refuses to believe that she wanted to spend Christmas with him enough to prepare for it, to buy a damn turkey, to make plans to call him and invite him over, and he starts wondering of she put on the pretty dress and make up for _him_. No. This is not something that happens to him and he shakes the thoughts away. Clearly, she's uncomfortable admitting all this to him when she could have just kept it to herself and pretended that him coming over was a lucky coincidence.

 

Deciding to try and remain casual and not allow for even a flicker of hope to start blooming inside of him, he offers her a weak smile. _Well, 'm here now. Let's do this._

 

* * *

 

_I'm gonna throw up._

 

He is pretty much ready to pass out at her dining table, decorated with twigs from the tree, cotton snow, silver bells and huge candles. His stomach feels as if it's about to burst from all the turkey, stuffing, potatoes and roasted vegetables, the button of his jeans digging uncomfortably into his skin.

 

_You know where the bathroom is,_ Carol chuckles, leaning back against her chair with a heavy sigh not too different from his own, tapping at the corner of her mouth with a red napkin.

 

Shaking his head, Daryl holds his stomach, not remembering the last time he overdid it so massively with food. It feels like he is about a second away from putting it all back on his plate. _Ain't gonna make it there,_ he groans, shoving his plate as far away from him as he can.

 

Carol laughs, folding her napkin next to her own empty plate. _Why did you have to eat more?_ There's not even an ounce of pity in her voice and he narrows his eyes at her, drawing a giggle from her.

 

_Cause it was fucking amazing._

 

She smiles for a brief second before quickly putting on a mockingly scolding expression. _But four helpings? We ate half the turkey._ Sadly, she's right. What's left of it still sits on the platter, completely shredded and looking more like a family of four attacked it like lions rather than just two people.

 

_Don't care,_ he groans, not regretting it one bit, but feeling like he's never going to eat anything else ever again. He ate more than enough to last him a lifetime.

 

_At least I have an excuse,_ Carol says, pointing at her stomach, which really always looks like it's about to burst these days. They fall into an easy silence as he groans again from being uncomfortable, drumming his fingers against the wooden table top. _So, presents?_ Carol asks after a few minutes, looking about as excited as a kid would be right about now and he nods, groaning again when she moves out of the chair and over to the couch where they left the presents. He follows her with heavy, slow steps and she chuckles at him – he's even slower than she is, and she's right: she does have an excuse.

 

But as soon as they make it back to the couch, all thoughts of being uncomfortably full are replaced by nervousness all over again. Earlier, he felt comforted by the fact that she got him something as well, but now he suddenly finds himself wondering if she will even like what he got for her. Or if she'll find it too awkward. _You first?_ he mutters, blushing and watching as she grabs her present from the coffee table. She holds on to it for a moment, clearly suppresses a giggle for a heartbeat before it breaks though and she snorts. It doesn't help at all with his general unease. _What'ya laughin' at?_

 

_Just..._ She heaves out the word and eventually just shoves the gift at him. He takes it, not surprised that it's as heavy as he suspected earlier. _Just unwrap it._

 

He shakes his head at her silliness as he starts untying the bow, eyes flickering between his present and her face. She watches him intently, grinning every time their gazes meet. Peeling away the layers of wrapping paper, he reveals a cardboard box. _Don't forget ta breathe,_ he reminds her when she sucks in a breath. He actually feels a little exited now, curious albeit a little startled by her reaction.

 

He pulls open the box and takes a look inside, instantly confused by what he sees. _What the-_ Pulling out the thing inside, he stares at it long and hard. It's something he thinks is supposed to be a garden gnome only it doesn't look like any he has ever seen, an ugly thing with a huge red nose, brown hat and sour expression. But it's the tiny crossbow he's holding, aimed and ready, that really draws his attention.

 

_It's Grumpy,_ Carol explains, not really helping him out much.

 

_Huh?_

 

Carol rolls her eyes at his general lack of knowledge regarding things she firmly believes he should know about. This isn't the first time he's been a disappointment to her. _Grumpy from Snow White._ He's heard of Snow White before but still doesn't know what the fuck she's talking about and she sighs when the confusion shows on his face. _It's you._

 

He can feel himself making a ridiculous face, lifting what he now assumes is one of the seven dwarfs up to stare at it, feeling a little self-conscious. _Don't look like me._ At least he hopes it doesn't.

 

She laughs at that, lightly slapping her hand against his knee. _Not likeness. You didn't like any of my ideas for your front yard so I thought maybe you'll like this. Had it made for you._ A hopeful expression dances over her face mingled with a little nervousness, clearly waiting for his approval. He does snort out a laughter then at her little plan, and Carol's eyes instantly lighten up.

 

_The old witch's gonna hate it for sure._ He can already imagine her expression, would bet his car that he'll find another note in his mailbox within a few days. _Gonna put it right up front._ Carol grins, beaming now that she knows he actually likes this. It's the ugliest thing he's ever seen but he figures that's the point here, and it offers him a chance for revenge now that he spent a whole afternoon digging out his dry bushes last week. _Thanks._ He sounds embarrassingly shy and Carol waves her hand dismissively.

 

He puts Grumpy on the table carefully and picks up her present as his heart beats a staggering rhythm. _Here,_ he says quietly, holding it out for her. She takes it from him with a warm smile, delicate fingers beginning to unwrap it. The red, snowflake covered paper crinkles along with the crackling of the fire and the thunder of his heartbeat in his ears. _Ain't much._

 

He should've gotten her something else, that's what he thinks as he watches her unwrap it, tortuously slow, or maybe that's just how he perceives it. Something simple, something that ain't as embarrassing as... But then her fingers touch soft fabric instead of smooth paper and she peels the last of it away, revealing what's beneath.

 

_Daryl..._ She breathes his name with wonder, her crystal clear eyes going wide and soft and her fingers brushing over the soft fabric of the blanket, the very same they'd spotted that day in Walmart.

 

_Didn't see one when we put all the stuff in,_ he explains shyly, as if that's an explanation for why he got this very blanket, his cheeks heating up and he wonders if the color really is the same. They'd put all the remaining baby stuff in the changing table and closet last week and one thing missing was a blanket.

 

Carol's eyes shine a little with tears and she pulls the blanket out entirely, shoves the paper away and runs her fingers over the incredibly soft fabric.

 

_Thank you,_ she whispers, leaning forward as much as she can with her belly in the way, a little unbalanced. But she doesn't miss when she presses her lips to his cheek, warm and soft and feather light but lingering for a second too long before quickly pulling away.

 

They look at each other for a long moment after that, the silence stretching on. Eventually, she looks down and starts folding the blanket in her lap. _Come on, I'll make some coffee._ She sounds like she's a little too eager to get away from the couch and the presents and he wonders if maybe he did make her uncomfortable. That he seems like a creep for remembering this, for buying her the blanket that had reminded her of him.

 

_Maybe if we wait ten minutes we can dig into dessert,_ Carol announces, pushing herself off the couch and he reaches out instinctively to steady her with a hand pressed to her back. She doesn't startle, looks down at him with a grin instead.

 

_There's more food?_

 

* * *

 

He's never been more comfortable in his life. They have dragged cushions and blankets down onto the floor in front of the fireplace to sit on and absorb the warmth of the flames. Two cups of coffee sit by their feet, mostly emptied. The fire fizzles and crackles and outside the snow still falls in thick flakes. The air is filled by the scent of charred wood and rich chocolate from their dessert, the lights of the Christmas tree casting curious shadows on the walls.

 

The new blanket is wrapped around Carol, and she is leaning against his shoulder with her own, just barely touching him.

 

She hums softly, shifting a little closer to him. _I didn't think I'd have a happy Christmas again._ They have been quiet for a while and as her quiet voice ends that silence she sounds sleepy, thoughtful. Her hand rests protectively on her stomach, drawing small circles there over the red fabric of her dress. _When I was with Ed..._ Her voice drops at the mention of her ex husband and she sighs, pausing for a minute. _I thought it would only get worse._

 

He understands now more than before why she had been so excited about Christmas. During her childhood, she must have had plenty of happy holidays, but he can only imagine the horrors of the last few years. _Ya got out._

 

She nods softly, staring into the flames and they are both quiet again for a while. _How about you?_ she asks eventually, turning her head to look up at him with curious but shy eyes, the flames dancing in the pools of blue.

 

Right now, he doesn't want to dwell on all the lonely nights he has endured over the course of his life. _Never had a happy Christmas before._ This evening, the way it is right now, it is the truly the best Christmas he has ever had, peaceful and quiet and happy and if that's what it's like for everybody else then he finally understands, after so many years, what all the fuss is about.

 

He is suddenly overwhelmed by the need to thank her for it somehow, for all the good she's brought to his life over the past few months. But that requires words, delicately woven words and he's never been good with those.

 

_'m...,_ he starts, not sure what he wants to say when there are a thousand words he wants to say. _'m real glad ya moved here, ya know?_ His voice is low and breaks on every other syllable, and he can't look at her while he says them. Not when she is this close, and so he looks down at his hands instead.

 

_Me, too._ The words she breathes surprise him and although they sound so very genuine it's still hard to believe them. Maybe she knows how much he struggles, her hand reaching out and her fingers curling around his. Warm and nimble they interlace with his own, and he does look at her then, no more than a hand of space between them now.

 

The warmth of her breath tickles his skin, sends heat into his cheeks. _Daryl..._ It's a gentle order and a question wrapped up in a breathy whisper and his eyes flicker down to her slightly parted lips before he can stop himself. He swallows deftly, trying and failing to resist the urge to move closer to her. He feels himself leaning in against his better judgment, despite the memories of last time they were this close. But Carol doesn't pull away this time, makes no move to indicate she doesn't want this. Instead, she leans in, too, grasping his hand a little tighter for leverage until she is so close that his eyes flutter shut by instinct.

 

Her lips press to his then, soft and warm and chaste, just a fleeting brush that requires neither effort nor skill. They linger for just a breathless second before they both pull away barely an inch, her eyes fluttering open when he's already looking at her wide-eyed. Her lashes cast intricate shadows against her pale and freckled skin, and her breathing comes a little labored.

 

_I'm scared,_ she whispers, still so close that her lips lightly brush his when she speaks. Her words echo in his own heart. He is absolutely terrified.

 

Struggling to not look away now, he lightly draws his thumb over the back of her hand. _'m scared, too,_ he admits hoarsely. Her lips twitch into a sad smile that rests heavily on his shoulders and then she curls into his side, leans her head against his shoulder. When his arm comes up around her back it feels natural, his hand falling into place easily against her waist on top of the blanket.

 

It should feel bigger. Should have more of an impact on him. But somehow, it doesn't. It feels like another small moment, another puzzle piece that shapes this night. A breath of fresh air that fills his lungs.

 

Quietly, he watches the flames dancing in the fireplace. On his lips, he can still feel the tingle of her kiss. Briefly, he tries to remember the last time he kissed someone, but he comes up empty. He never liked it much before but now he feels like this is something to aspire to, sitting here with Carol in front of the fire. The warmth of her in his arms. The echo of her kiss on his chapped lips.

 

After a while, her breathing slows and evens out and he figures she's about to fall asleep when the grip of her hand on his eases, too.

 

_'s late,_ he says quietly, keeping his voice merely a murmur to not startle her. _I can go if ya wanna go to bed._ She tightens her fingers a little and nuzzles further into the embrace. His own hand moves from her waist to her back and he runs his palm up and down her spine. Touching another person like this feels foreign to him, like a first time each time, but he tries his best to be as soft and gentle as he can be. It's the least she deserves.

 

_No, stay,_ she whispers sleepily and he wonders if she's half dreaming already. Her free hand comes up to hold on to his, too, their clasped hands resting partly on his thigh and partly against the swell of her stomach now.

 

He understands the drowsiness to her words easily. While he's not particularly tired, he could fall asleep right here right now, and her next lazily spoken words make him hope that she won't wake up in the morning regretting the step they took. That she won't be sending him away like she did before, erasing him from her life completely this time and by doing that robbing him of all the light.

 

_Stay just a bit longer._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Finally? I hope this felt like the right moment to you. I know the slow burn was a bit exhausting but now that they have taken a step forward, I hope it feels rewarding. I was so excited about writing this chapter for weeks and as usual, it was a lot harder to actually write it then it was to come up with it in my head *sigh*
> 
> As Daryl himself pointed out, this ultimately wasn't a big moment. But I didn't want it to be. They have been heading towards this at such a slow pace, I didn't want fireworks and unicorn parades. Just a small moment that felt natural - I hope I managed to create that.


	15. baby steps

december 26th:

 

A gust of cold wind hits his warmed skin when he pulls open the front door, a few stray snowflakes tickling his cheeks. Carol is standing on his porch in as many layers as an onion - a thick scarf, her hat pulled down past her eyebrows, gloves and a thick coat that looks like she barely managed to zip it up. Her cheeks are angry and red from the cold, and snowflakes are melting all over her arms and shoulders. _Could've called. I'd 've come over._ He hates the idea of her walking around in this weather, stomping through the snow on already unsteady feet. His eyes take in the sight of his snow covered porch steps where she left behind her deep footprints.

 

_I'm not terminally ill,_ Daryl, she says in mild annoyance, still giving him a slight smile as if she's slightly flattered by his concern. When he makes room for her, she quickly steps inside, though, eager to escape the arctic chill outside.

 

_Y'ain't got any control over ya body._ He shuts the door before the cold can settle inside the house, eyeing her wobbly steps with furrowed brows. He'd sure as hell never say it out loud but the whole whale comparison she drew a few months ago suddenly seems to make sense - after all, she's about as graceful as a whale would be if it suddenly grew legs. He chokes back a chuckle, probably making a ridiculous face in the process.

 

Carol turns to face him with a devious smirk and he wonders what on Earth he said now to prompt this. _Did something happen last night that I forgot about?_ She says it casually but with a sparkle to her eyes that he knows too well, unwrapping the scarf from her neck and pulling her hat off. Beneath it, the auburn curls of her hair are static and messy.

 

He blushes a deep shade of red and feels himself shifting from one bare foot to the other nervously. _Stop._ Of course nothing had happened, nothing more than one shy kiss to her soft cheek when he left her place just after midnight. He hadn't wanted to push his luck.

 

Carol's face softens a little and he hopes its because of the memory of last night. She takes a slow step closer, her eyes flickering down to his lips and back to his eyes, making him shudder involuntarily. They haven't talked about what last night meant. If it was a one time thing. He's pretty much clueless here but he knows one thing. That he doesn't want it to be just a one time thing. An experiment. A mistake. He wants nothing more than to kiss her again.

 

_Can I?_ The question is cut short because he can't bring himself to say the rest. Instead, he swallows deftly, hoping to rid himself off the lump in his throat. Briefly, his eyes flutter down to her parted lips, and she seems to understand him.

 

She nods. _Yes._

 

Taking one step forward, he breaches the distance between them. But then he lingers, their faces barely an inch apart. For a moment, he stands completely still, relishing in the feeling of her so close. Then, slowly, his hands come up to cup her cheeks, so cold but so soft, too.

 

Still, he hesitates. Afraid that she's going to turn to dust if he moves, if he leans in. That he'll wake from the cruelest of dreams. _It's okay,_ Carol whispers, sensing his fear, and the warmth of her breath on his lips is soothing. She smells faintly of vanilla and the snow. As she leans in closer the tip of her nose nudges his, icy cold and his eyes flutter shut by instinct alone. Ever so softly, her lips brush again his. Then she stills, keeping their lips pressed together, waiting. And this time, he conquers his fear, begins to kiss her back. He's still so careful, treating her like a porcelain doll, and he wonders how long it'll take him to let go of his fear that she isn't real, that none of the happiness he feels blossoming inside of him is meant to last.

 

The kiss lasts longer than the last, and when he pulls away it is reluctantly. He never wants to stop kissing her, to miss the warmth and suppleness of her lips so sweetly against his. As his eyes flutter open, he takes in the sight of the smile on her face and he can't help but smile too, keeping their foreheads pressed together. As close as they can be.

 

december 27th:

 

He's rubbing furiously at an oil stain on his palm with a red rag, more than ready to head into an early lunch break, when Axel's voice tears through the garage, easily heard even over the loud thundering of the radio. _Hey, Dixon! There's a lady here who wants ta talk ta ya._

 

Grunting slightly in annoyance, Daryl throws the rag back onto the work bench. He's a little confused and irritated cause ain't like they are at the hair dressers where people request someone to take care of their damn car. But when he turns around his heart picks up speed and the disgruntled expression on his face instantly fades away. That's Carol standing by the door with her keys in her hand, the door behind her wide open and her breath forming misty clouds in front of her mouth. He silently curses Axel who is standing right next to her for not getting her in here properly and shutting the damn door.

 

Quickly, he rushes over there, nearly tripping over a stray toolbox in the process and muttering a curse under his breath. By the time he gets to the entrance Axel is stepping away, winking at him as he passes him.

 

_Carol?_ he asks, a little out of breath for no reason at all other than worry. _Everything all right?_

 

_Yes,_ she sighs, looking a little defeated. _My break lights aren't working._

 

Feeling the chill from outside he reaches past her to shut the door, catching a glimpse of the snow that's still falling heavily. The street lights are barely visible through the white haze. It had taken him twenty minutes longer to get to work this morning, the streets a complete chaotic mess. _What'ya doin' drivin' in this weather?_ he asks, his chest clenching at the thought of her on those roads.

 

_I needed food,_ she explains plainly. _You ate all the turkey, remember?_ Her smirk makes him squirm, stirring his guilt about stuffing himself with all the leftovers last night.

 

_Call me next time,_ he mutters, scratching his chin nervously. _Gonna get it for ya._ It's the least he can do to pay her back for all the cooking she does. Especially with the weather like this and her always complaining about how little space she has in the car with her belly close to exploding. Sometimes, he wonders if she's got triplets in there. But she'd shown him the ultra sound last week, and after some much needed explaining even he'd been able to make out her kid. Just one.

 

Carol makes the same face she does every time he tries to tell her to take it easy, but instead of speaking up and defending her choice she seems to be more reasonable today. She gives him a grateful smile instead. _Okay,_ she sighs in defeat, the corner of her mouth curling up into a half-smile.

 

They look at each other for a moment as the music blasts around them. Everything is still so brand new, so fragile, and he doesn't know how to proceed from here. It's like he just met her all over again. He clears his throat, already feeling the other guys staring at him. The prickling sensation at the back of his neck is familiar and unwelcome. _Now lemme check them lights._

 

 

 

His wrist still tingles where she briefly touched him, so fleeting when they said their goodbyes. The echo of her touch lingers. He'd wanted to kiss her but he still doesn't know if he just gets to do that whenever he wants, if it's something she wants. And he sure as hell won't give the guys that to pester him with, doesn't want to show her off like a trophy.

 

Walking back to the bench at the back of the garage, he can already see Axel approaching him from his periphery.

 

_Don't tell me ya knocked her up._ Daryl doesn't hate the guy but doesn't particularly like him, either. They've worked together for about three years now and while he's good at the job he can be annoying sometimes, talks too much all the time.

 

_What?_

 

_That lady._ He gives him a creepy smirk the way he does sometimes, running his hand over his stupid ginger mustache. _Ya know, the guys an' I have been bettin' if ya finally got laid. Ya know, what with ya glowing so much lately an' all._

 

He can't quite believe what he's hearing, and looks over his shoulder to see the others quickly getting back to work on the old Chevy. They were watching, too curious for their own damned good. _I ain't glowing,_ he hisses through his teeth, angrily putting some scattered tools back onto the hooks on the wall. He'd told them all to put them back straight away a thousand times.

 

_Well, y'ain't sulkin' no more, either._ His knuckles turn white as his fingers curl into an angry fist and he just barely stops himself from pointing out that he doesn't sulk either. But a small voice whispers to him that declaring that that would probably be a lie. It makes him wonder if maybe the guys have noticed that he has been a lot happier than before over the past few months. And how goddamned miserable he must've been before.

 

_Didn't knock her up,_ he mutters, holding on to an oily wrench to contain his rage and staring down at it long and hard.

 

Axel gives him a sleazy laugh that makes him cringe, pressing his hands onto the bench. _Bangin' a pregnant lady. Didn't think ya were into that, man._

 

_Shut ya damn mouth!_ he shouts, not caring who the fuck hears him right now. He doesn't want anyone thinking that that's what he and Carol have, just a quick fuck. That Carol got knocked up by the local loner, that she- _Fuck you, man,_ he mutters, choking on all his thoughts as he storms off towards the break room.

 

december 28th:

 

Neither of them is paying much attention to the quiz show on TV, too absorbed in the moment to care about past presidents and other random history trivia. The fire warms the room and fills it with the familiar comforting scent, and Daryl is pretty sure he has grown into the couch by now.

 

Carol is curled into his side, his arm resting around her shoulder and rubbing gentle circles into her upper arm.

 

His eyes catch the swell of her stomach, the baby moving like an alien again. It's been doing that for a while now, easy to see under the tight tank top she wears. The green flannel button up she wears over it hides nothing because she hasn't been able to actually button it up in a while. _Kid's restless today,_ he points out, the sight of it still kind of freaky if he's being honest.

 

Carol hums, touching a hand to her belly. _Sophia,_ she says quietly after a minute. _Her name is Sophia._ It's a big confession and he wonders if she has shared this with anyone else.

 

_Pretty name._

 

She turns to looks up at him with a smile, looking so damn happy in such a quiet and subtle way. It shows in the part of her lips and the twinkle in her eyes. _I think she likes you,_ she tells him, her fingers tracing just above her belly button. _She gets excited when you're around and she hears your voice._

 

Those words, spoken so genuinely, instantly make him feel like he's standing in a spotlight and he quickly looks away, down at her stomach.

 

The mere idea of this baby is surreal. that she will be here so soon, just a few weeks from now. And then what? He still doesn't know what he and Carol are, what she needs him to be. He never once thought about having kids of his own. He don't mind them but he'd always been so sure he'd never find someone to have kids with. Always knew he wouldn't need them. But now he as Carol and he doesn't want to spend another day of his life without her and her kid is part of the package.

 

Curiously, he watches as Sophia moves beneath her mother's hand. _Can I?_

 

From his periphery, he can see Carol nodding. She reaches for his hand, curls her fingers around his. _Yes._ It's delicate when she presses his palm to her firm stomach. Immediately he can feel the baby moving beneath, and he's pretty damn sure he can feel an elbow or maybe a foot and it's nothing short of surreal. Thinking there's a actual baby in there. Carol's kid.

 

Feeling her move is weird as shit but somehow it also somehow makes him feel like it _is_ real.

 

_Ya nervous?_ he asks quietly, surprised to realize that _he_ suddenly is. Until now, he hasn't really thought much about a time after the baby is born.

 

Carol hesitates for a moment, her hand still pressed to his. _Terrified,_ she breathes and her eyes meet his when he looks at her. There's genuine fear in them and she absentmindedly brushes her thumb over the back of his hand, lingering on the small star from memory alone, circling it.

 

He won't try to talk her out of this, thinks it's a valid fear that probably all mothers go through before their baby is born. But there's nothing to actually worry about, really. _Ya gonna be a great mom._

 

Her eyes glisten and she smiles softly, a hint of sadness to it nonetheless that he doubts he'll ever be able to brush away. _Thank you._

 

It's only now that they have grown silent that he realizes how close she really is, and he's overwhelmed once more by the need to kiss her. He has never felt this way before about anyone but now he finds himself edging forward just lightly to give her time to back out. _Can I?_

 

The smile that had been shy before widens now and she leans in a little closer, pressing her lips to his in a brief kiss. _You don't have to ask, Daryl._

 

Her warm breath tickles on his face and he doesn't let her permission go to waste. Instead, he kisses her again, a little longer now than before. Braver.

 

A slight shiver wrecks him when she sighs, their joined hands still resting on her belly. As their lips move languidly, his thumb draws lazy circles where her baby still moves while his other hand sifts through her hair, feeling the silk of her curls against his calloused fingers.

 

Eventually, Carol pulls away with a tiny whimper, her lips pinker than they were before.

 

The smiles on their faces barely fade when she curls back into his side.

 

 

december 29th:

 

He hates the idea. Loathes it, really. But Carol seems so excited that it's hard to just downright refuse her.

 

Lori invited her for New Year's Eve, and he knows how much it means to her to make new friends here. A fresh start. And hell, she can spend her time however the hell she wants. Only, Lori apparently told her to ask him to come along, and it make shim wonder how much Lori and Rick know about... them.

 

Truth be told, he doesn't want to go. End of story. He doesn't like New Year's any more than Christmas or Thanksgiving or Easter or whatever. Last thing he wants is to attend someone else's party or any party. And he's not sure how welcome he'd really be. His instinct tells him that Lori only extended the invitation out of politeness and because she cares for Carol. But he doesn't have the best history with Rick and he doesn't really care about the company either.

 

He'd have been content to spend the night with Carol. But she has made her choice, it seems, and now he's stuck between a rock and a hard place.

 

_Don't know,_ he sighs. _Rick and I..._ He doesn't know how to say this without being ominous, without prompting a million questions he's not yet ready to answer. _He's a decent guy but we ain't got the best history._ He picks at his salad, staring at the crumbs of garlic bread left on his plate.

 

He can feel Carol's eyes on him and when he looks up, it's easy to see she's clearly a little weary about having mentioned this at all. _Because he arrested your brother?_ she asks carefully, catching him off guard.

 

He's a little surprised that she knows this but then again she has lived here for months now and would surely have heard all about his family by now, even if it wasn't from him. _Couple times,_ he corrects her, wondering just how much she knows. Most of all, he wonders why she decided to trust him not to follow his brother's footsteps.

 

She smiles with something like pride to her expression that makes him want to bolt. _But never you._

That's true. The closest thing he came to it was when he got into a fight in high school but he ran off and nothing ever came of it.

 

_Nah, had better things to do._ He tries to make light of it because not getting thrown in jail shouldn't be such a big deal, and even just the mention of his brother has dampened his mood.

 

_And that's what matters,_ Carol declares, twirling her fork over her plate and catching a few more spaghetti. Her lips are stained red from the tomato sauce and he really hopes he'll get to kiss that off later. _You're not your brother._

 

With a humorless laugh he nods, staring down at his empty plate, restless on his chair. _Didn't know ya knew 'bout all this._

 

_Lori told me. My first week here._ He looks up in shock and Carol looks a bit embarrassed that she didn't bring all of this up sooner, almost as if she feels guilty for keeping her knowledge from him. It's silly, and he doesn't blame her. But this just makes him wish he'd had the balls to come clean on his own. To tell his version of the story.

 

_He won't make trouble,_ he promises, suddenly needing to make sure that she knows that his past won't haunt him or them. That she doesn't have to be afraid. _Ain't seen him in years._

 

Carol puts down her fork, slowly curls her hand around her glass of water. _I'm not worried, Daryl._

 

He can't understand why it doesn't seem to bother her, and what on Earth she sees in him that nobody else ever has, but he's grateful for it.

 

All he can give her in return for her trust is a weak smile. For now.

 

 

 

An hour later, with her lips an inch away from his own, he gives in and tells her he'll come along.

 

december 30th:

 

He's pushing a heavy trolley through the grocery store, filled to the brim even though they've only been here ten minutes. The whole place is swamped with people shopping for New Years Eve, making him feel like a caged animal in a zoo.

 

Carol is strolling behind him, content now to let him push the heavy trolley after an initial discussion. He's staring at her damn near endless shopping list, the neat writing suiting her.

 

When he nears the end of the list he stumbles upon something he doesn't recognize. _The fuck's this?_

 

Carol steps up behind him, so close that her belly presses slightly into his lower back, and peeks over his shoulder at what he's pointing at.

 

_Meringues,_ she explains, taking a step to the side to take a look at the canned fruit stacked sky high on the shelves.

 

He sighs, a little irritated after a long day at work and being stuck here in this hellhole. _I can read. The hell is it, though?_ He's never heard it before, but it sounds like some fancy French thing which she probably needs for the dessert she plans on making for tomorrow. She's been stressing herself out about it as if Rick and Lori would really care. He knows them well enough to know they're decent people who don't give two fucks about dessert.

 

_Heaven._ Carol grins at him - his stomach doing a little flip - and picks a can of peaches from the shelf. Carefully, she places it into the trolley where there are diapers, kitchen roll, bread, cheese, boxes of dry pasta, everything and anything - she told him she's worried the baby might come early and then she'll be out of food. No matter how hard he'd tried reassuring her that he is capable enough of shopping for her after the baby's born, she'd insisted on making this pre-apocalyptic shopping trip.

 

Her reply doesn't help him at all. _Ain't seeing no sign here that says Heaven,_ he mutters, waving his hand around for emphasis. _Want me to ask the kid over there where the Heaven aisle is?_ He points at a young man down the aisle stacking cranberry sauce, who looks like he's about twelve years old, tall and lanky and a little bored.

 

Carol tries to hide a giggle. _Idiot. You really don't know?_ He shakes his head and she gives him a fake gasp. _God. There's so much I need to teach you._

 

The wink she gives him causes a tug deep in his abdomen that he really doesn't need right now and it doesn't improve when she leans into him a little, just enough to be accidental. Close enough for him to breathe in the unique scent of her but not too close that it would give them away - not like they're hiding anything but he doesn't know what they'd be hiding anyway.

 

_Stop._

 


	16. fireworks

His open closet stares back at him, alarmingly void of anything suited for the occasion. Daryl groans, eyeing his meager collection of clothes as his finger toy with the towel he has wrapped around his waist. He ain't got a clue what to wear and so he sighs in defeat, digging his bare toes into the scratchy carpet of his bedroom. Agreeing to this was the worst decision he's ever made, and especially when he was younger he made an alarming amount of bad decision.

 

There's very little hiding in his closet that would look decent enough to wear tonight. He does own one suit that he hasn't worn in two years but that seems a little too much for a New Year's Eve dinner at his neighbors' house. Then again, he sure as hell ain't no expert on dinner parties or anything remotely like it. Helpless, he sits down on the edge of his unmade bed, letting his palms press into the sheets by his side. His mind is working tirelessly today, imagining a dozen scenarios in which he doesn't have to go but can still spend some time with Carol.

 

She'll probably look flawless tonight, and just the thought of that makes him feel guilty for sitting on his lazy ass instead of putting some damn effort into looking like he actually gave a damn about this night. She's trying and what is he doing? Sitting here, sulking over something that was his own choice to make. He could've just said no. But he'd wanted to try - for her - to make it work, and now he might as well _try_.

 

Muttering a curse under his breath he stands and grabs one of his few good shirts from the closet - plain and black with long sleeves he can easily roll up - and he tosses it onto the bed to join a pair of clean jeans, his briefs and socks. He eyes it all for a minute, deciding that it won't get better than that, and so he gathers it all in his bare arms and heads back to the bathroom.

 

It's freezing in there and so he quickly slams the window shut, but at least the steam from his shower has disappeared. Ignoring the goosebumps that erupt all over his skin, he quickly towel dries his hair, half-heartedy combing through it with his fingers. It doesn't look all that bad, he decides as he stares at his reflection in the mirror.

 

Briefly, he wonders if he should have shaved, but that probably would have been too obvious of a change. As he drops the towel from his waist and starts to get dressed, he wonders if this is the kind of occasion that calls for some perfume or shit like that. Not that he owns any. He ponders the thought as he buttons up his shirt, and eventually grabs his bottle of aftershave and rubs some of it on his neck, figuring it's enough to not make him smell like the generic body wash he used for his shower.

 

All dressed and still not ready to go, Daryl steps out into the hallway, checking the clock on the wall. He still has thirty minutes to kill before he's supposed to pick up Carol and walk her over to the Grimes' house across the street. His heart thunders in his chest, and as he stands there in the darkness, only the streetlights illuminating the room, his palms turn clammy.

 

* * *

 

She looks so damn beautiful in a pair of tight, black jeans and a midnight blue blouse with little white stars printed on it, fluttering around the swell of her stomach. Her auburn hair curls around her ears and her lips are painted red - she'd wiped some lipstick of his lips with the pad of her thumb earlier when he picked her up and she'd leaned up to give him a quick kiss.

 

It's hard not to stare at her like a complete creep during dinner.

 

So far, Lori and Rick have been kind enough - not that he expected them to be rude. But despite feeling like he's stuck in someone else's skin, it's been easier than expected to wait for the time to pass. Sitting at their overly decorated dinner table in their picture perfect house with white walls and old, dark furniture, Daryl still feels completely out of place, though.

 

The baby monitor next to Lori's plate occasionally rushes or sends a tiny squeaky sound their way, but mostly it doesn't disrupt the small talk that's happening around him. Mostly things about their neighborhood or Lori and Rick gushing about their son. All in all stuff he's glad not to have to participate in and so he focuses on his food instead.

 

_Carol told us how much you've been helping her out. That's so kind of you._ It takes Daryl a moment to realize that Lori is talking to him, and he looks up from his half-empty plate with a slightly startled expression.

 

He swallows a bite of his steak, feeling like it got stuck halfway down his throat. _'s nothin',_ he chokes, dismissing everything he's done. Because it really doesn't feel like he did a lot. Under the table, however, Carol's hand comes to rest just above his knee, squeezing ever so slightly. He catches her shy smile when he turns to catch a glimpse of her before she pulls her hand away. The tingle of her encouraging touch lingers.

 

_I think it means a great deal,_ Lori declares with a smile, lifting her glass of juice. _To you. For being such a good friend._ He has never wished harder to disappear into the ground than he does right now, Rick and Carol both lifting their glasses, too. His entire body tenses as he grabs his own beer, forcing a thin-lipped smile when they toast him. He takes a sip more than necessary to wash down the sour taste of embarrassment in his mouth, throwing Carol a glare that she responds to with a twitch of the corner of her mouth.

 

_So, how's business?_ Ricks asks him as he sets down his own glass of cold beer, sitting across from him at the table. Daryl nearly cringes at how forced he sounds, as if they have these dinners all the time and are the type of people who chat about their jobs instead of two guys who went to school together but barely ever exchanged a word, instead of a cop and the town drunk's son.

 

_'s good,_ he answers a little reluctantly, not really knowing how to continue the conversation from here now that he's suddenly been forced to talk. He'd been settling into his quiet role from before, occasionally giving a one-worded remark or a forced smile when it fit the conversation.

 

Luckily, Rick takes charge again, and it makes him wonder if he really wants to make conversation with him or just tries to avoid an awkward silence. _And how's Dale? Was real sorry when I heard Irma died._

 

Lori sighs at that, nodding sadly.

 

It's been two years since Dale's wife passed away from cancer and it's taken a toll on the man. They'd been married for so long, Daryl can't imagine losing someone who was such an ingrained part of your life. _'s been tough on him,_ he replies, moving a potato wedge across his plate with his fork. _He ain't around much anymore._ Even though he's mostly absent now, Dale still tries to maintain a brave face. Over the last year or so, however, he slowly starting handing over responsibilities and Daryl knows that the other guys - just like him - are beginning to wonder about the future of the place.

 

_Can't imagine what he's goin' through._ Rick says somberly, looking at Lori. She smiles sweetly and takes his hand on the table, their weddings rings reflecting the candle light. Daryl quickly looks away in embarrassment, feeling his cheeks flush a darker shade of pink. Somehow, he's overly aware of Carol by his side, her own hands flat on the table.

 

* * *

 

_He's such a precious little boy._ Carol dotes on the little baby in her arms who'd woken up right after dinner, fussing and squirming. Lori had brought him to the living room just as Rick headed off to clear the table, and Carol had been all too eager to take the baby. Even now he's still fussing, though, making odd little sounds and Daryl wonders if it's supposed to be doing that. He'd rather keep his distance, still sitting at the now cleared table and picking at an unused napkin.

 

_I'm going to go warm up a bottle. He's always hungry,_ Lori sighs, and it's easy to see how tired the woman is. Dark circles frame her eyes and her posture is hunched, but she still smiles, looks happy. Carol chuckles, slightly rocking Carl in her arms as Lori heads off to the kitchen, leaving them alone. Humming softly, Carol sways her body ever so slightly from side to side and Daryl watches mesmerized. It's so easy to imagine her with her own baby girl, her face glowing, everything about this looking so natural and whole.

 

_Looks good on ya,_ he remarks, smirking when she smiles brightly at the compliment. But her face falls just as quickly and she hisses in pain, stopping her movements and freezing. _Hey, y'all right?_ he asks, jumping to his feet and marching over to her in two quick strides, his hand coming to rest against her back, reading to steady her should she need the support.

 

_Can you take him?_ She sounds like she's in a lot of pain, pressing the words out, already holding the baby out for him. _My back is killing me._ He doesn't really have a choice but to take the baby from her, moving carefully. He'd really rather not, but the other option would be for Carol to suffer or drop him. Carl is warm and tiny and squirming with his little arms and legs as he struggles to hold him safely, cradling him against his chest. Carol slowly sinks down onto a chair, clutching the table for support, and he looks at her with concern. _It's okay,_ she reassures him, noticing his questioning look. _I'm just exhausted._

 

_Ya sure?_ She hums and eyes him standing there with the baby in his arms. A smile curls her lips, and only now does he look down at the baby, big eyes wide open, looking at him curiously. He's also completely still now except for his little hands that curl into light fists over and over.

 

_Looks good on you, too,_ Carol says quietly, and he squirms uncomfortably on the spot. He wants to tell her no, that he doesn't have a clue about babies and has never held one before now. Maybe he really should tell her that as a warning now that he still can, before her own kid arrives. But he never gets a chance to say anything about it.

 

_Well, look at that._ He turns to see Lori heading back with a bottle in her hands, grinning at the sight of him with her quiet son in his arms. _You should come here more often._

 

Despite the compliment he's quick to offer her the baby back, staring down at the floor when she cradles him in her arms. Not knowing where to look, Daryl sits back down, clearing his throat.

 

_Let me just feed him and then we can dig into dessert. It looks amazing, Carol._

 

Carol thanks her softly, and he looks up to make sure she's really okay. Instead of a pained expression, he finds her eyeing him with curiosity, paying Lori and Carl no attention.

  ~~~~

* * *

 

It finally stopped snowing this morning and that leaves the world behind under a thick layer of untouched white, the sky above crystal clear and speckled with shimmering stars.

 

Standing outside on the back porch, they all breathe in the crisp, still air.

 

Through the open backdoor, they can faintly hear the countdown on TV, the new year only ten seconds away. Daryl's chest feels tight at the prospect of it, of starting a new year. A better year than the last. Of starting over.

 

Lori is curled into Rick's side on the top steps, but he and Carol linger a few steps behind, standing a little awkwardly next to each other as he stares at the night sky.

 

When the clock strikes midnight and cheers erupt on the televisions screen, the fireworks start almost instantly, illuminating the sky in all colors. When the first is fired, Daryl flinches slightly, curling his fingers into tight fists.

 

Lori leans up to kiss Rick, and he feels his heart stuttering in his chest. There's nothing he wants to do more right now in the early seconds of the new year than to kiss Carol. But not here, not in front of them, not when he isn't even sure if Carol told either of them about the recent changes between them. He does turn to look at her, though, the fireworks reflecting in her teary eyes and her lips curling into a shy smile.

 

Slowly, she reaches her hand out and curls it around his own, instantly easing some of the tension. His fingers loosen a little when she squeezes them for a brief moment, the touch of her so soft and warm and sweet and he can't help but smile back.

 

The baby monitor that they'd set down on the small table by the door goes off as expected and Daryl all but drops Carol's hand when Lori pulls away from Rick with a sigh. _Happy new year,_ she wishes them in passing and with a big smile, oblivious to the moment she just interrupted as she rushes inside to comfort her crying son. She's gone before either of them have a chance to say it back.

 

* * *

 

Under the shelter of the Grimes' porch, he hadn't realized just how cold it was. Now, though, as he walks Carol home, he's damn near freezing his limbs off. Making slow and careful steps over the treacherous snow, it takes them a while to cross the street. Carol keeps her arm linked with his, holding on as he leads her up the snow-covered steps of her porch.

 

In front of her door, they both linger, their breaths turning into thick mist in front of their mouths.

 

A smile whispers across Carol's face in the light of the moon and the fireworks that still burst in the sky, their bright colors reflecting on the snow. As slowly and carefully as always, she leans up onto the toes of her boots, her gloved hands finding purchase on his shoulder. _Happy new year,_ she breathes before brushing her lips against his. His hands come to rest on her hips, cushioned by her thick coat, eager to hold her close.

 

But she pulls away before he can really respond, her hands lingering on his shoulders.

 

_Good night,_ he whispers, reaching up to cup her cheek and brush his thumb over the smooth but cold skin. His stomach flutters excitedly when she leans into the touch, craving more of it. It's all foreign to him, the idea of somebody wanting to be this close to him (and even his own need to be close to her is uncharted territory).

 

_Daryl?_ Her voice wavers a little and she pauses for a long moment. _Do you..._ Swallowing, Carol nervously looks down at their feet, merely an inch apart. He waits for what she has to say, nudges the tip of his nose against hers, red from the cold. _Do you want to come in?_

 

His heart skips a beat before picking up a thundering rhythm and his hand instantly freezes against her cheek. He's not sure what exactly she's asking from him here. It might be an innocent offer but he worries all the same. Inviting him inside now, in the dead of night...

 

_Carol-_

 

Always too skilled at reading him, she seems to sense his hesitation. In a quick move, she reaches down to interlace her fingers with his, leaning in even closer so her lips brush against his just slightly. It's not a real kiss but rather a butterfly's touch when she speaks quietly. _Please?_

 

The more reasonable part of him wants to say no, make a mature decision for once in his life. But there's another part that craves her too much to let this moment pass, and yet another that has held on to some childish sense of naivety and wonders if she's just asking for a few more minutes of his company.

 

He is weak and knows he won't be able to tell her no, even though he knows he should.

 

With a raging pulse, he presses a brave kiss to her lips that lasts a mere second before he parts again. Giving her a curt nod when words fail him.


	17. touch

Her house is barely lit by the small lamp by the door and the occasional firework illuminating the large room in all sorts of vibrant colors. Carol has taken off her coat, placing it neatly where it belongs along with her scarf and gloves, toeing off her shoes in silence.

 

He watches, unsure what to do, still wearing his jacket. His boots are on the doormat, melting snow soaking into the course fabric.

 

_Do you want some coffee?_ Carol asks when she finally turns to him. She sounds so wretchedly nervous, fidgeting restlessly with her hands and staring at her socked feet instead of him. _Or tea? I could make so-_

 

_Carol, hey,_ he interrupts her rapid-fire rambling, taking two large strides towards her and cupping her cheeks in his cold hands. _What'ya doin'?_ he murmurs, gently brushing his thumbs over her cheekbones, hoping to calm her down a little.

 

She sighs, instead, reaching up to rest one hand on top of his. With her eyes still cast downwards, she whispers a confession into the small space between them. _Trying not to be scared._

 

He's terrified out of his mind himself, his palms clammy and his knees weak. But he's also confused because he doesn't understand why she's pushing herself so much. A part of him worries that he somehow made her believe that she needs to take this step, that he unknowingly put too much pressure on her. _Come 'ere._ He slides one hand around her neck to tuck her against his chest and she follows willingly, melding into the embrace. Her arms feel small and frail when she wraps them around him eagerly and pushes herself against him as much as she possibly can, almost as if she's trying to crawl under his skin.

 

As they stand there, he runs his hand up and down her back soothingly for a little while, feeling the ridges of her spine under his fingers. Lightly placing his chin on the crown of her head, he watches the fireworks casting colorful shapes on the wall.

 

_Can you kiss me?_ Carol looks up at him with nervous eyes, her voice breaking a little.

 

He'd never deny her this and so he leans down and brushes his lips against hers, chaste and soft the way they always do. When he pulls away again, he rests his forehead against hers, unwilling to move too far away from her.

 

But she surprises him. _No,_ she breathes, curling her hands around his neck and tugging him even closer. _Really kiss me._

 

His heart begins to thunder in his chest, and he has to swallow the lump in his throat that seems to prevent him from breathing. Nevertheless, he leans down and presses his lips to hers a little firmer this time. Carol, however, is quick to take charge, running her tongue along the seam of his lips.

 

He grants her entrance with a sigh. Nothing compares to the warmth of her as the kiss deepens, and the shiver that runs down his spine when she sifts her clever fingers through his hair is unlike anything he's ever felt. Short nails drag down the back of his neck, a groan rumbling deep in his chest in response. One of his hands has found purchase against the small of her back while the other curls around the back of her neck, feeling her pulse thrashing beneath his fingertips.

 

With every second that passes the kiss deepens more, heating his blood and sending his heart on a chase he knows he won't be able to endure much longer. He has to stop this now before it gets too frustrating for the both of them, but his body screams at him to just let this happen.

 

Finally, he pulls away from her, putting a few much needed inches of distance between them. She whimpers at the loss, briefly leaning in to chase the lost kiss before her eyes flutter open and his chest begins to ache. She looks so stunning, taking his breath away with her flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips.

 

It takes Daryl a second to catch his breath, and he eases his surprisingly strong hold of his hand on her back. _'s late_. He should be tired but he's not, but he also has not forgotten how much pain Carol seemed to be in earlier and it's easy to assume that this night must have been exhausting for her. _How 'bout ya head upstairs. Get ready for bed. 'm gonna heat the sheep up for ya._

 

For a moment, Carol looks like she wants to protest but then she nods instead, looking a little disappointed. He feels the same way when she steps away, leaving him behind feeling cold and empty.

 

She heads upstairs and a minute later he hears the bathroom door close. Taking a deep breath, he pulls himself from his trance and heads to the kitchen to heat up her warm water bottle that looks like a sheep – the one he has been teasing her about for weeks. He has seen her heat it up before bed often enough to know it's part of her routine, and it allows him time to cool himself down a little as he waits for the water to boil.

 

 

 

Carol's still in the bathroom when he heads upstairs, lingering in front of her bedroom for a moment. He's been in there plenty of times over the last few months but tonight seems different. Like a step he's not ready for. But he has the hot water bottle in his arms and nowhere else to go so he walks inside.

 

Her bed is neatly made and he slides the fluffy sheep under her comforter, ready to leave the room when he hears the bathroom door open outside. By the time he turns around, Carol is standing in the bedroom door.

 

The only light comes from the ceiling lamp in the hallway and even in the semi-darkness he has to swallow when he looks at her. Wearing gray pajamas and no more make up, she looks so damn beautiful.

 

He is ready to say good night and head downstairs but then she quickly switches off the light in the hallway, bathing them in darkness. The sound of the bedroom door closing echoes louder in the dark than the occasional firework outside.

 

His chest tightens as he stands there, petrified, staring at what little he can make out of her. _Carol-_

 

_Stay. Please._ She doesn't sound nearly as confident as her bold actions might have made him believe, but she still takes a few slow steps towards him. He doesn't retreat, not even when she reaches up to rest a warm hand on his cheek and presses a kiss to his lips. Less urgent than before, but still enough to stoke the embers of the fire she lit earlier.

 

When she pulls away all too quickly, he feels himself mourning the warmth of her lips against his. But he does catch a glimpse of her face illuminated in the bright pink light of the fireworks outside.

 

_Lay down with me?_ she asks softly, her hand finding his. She entwines their fingers as if they'd never done anything else and tugs him towards the bed. Even though a part of him is terrified, he doesn't protest, sits down on her soft mattress and allows her to pull him down with her.

 

She doesn't let go for even a second until she's on her side on top of the thick comforter and he's pressed up against her, his chest to her back, and he breathes in the scent of her, so sweet and familiar and still all new.

 

_I can't...,_ she whispers into the darkness, whatever she meant to say lost. Lost in thought himself, he draws circles into her palm with his thumb, resting his forehead against the back of her neck because now that he is this close to her he wants to drink it all in and not let a single second go to waste. _You know- I_ want _to, but I don't think..._

 

She's clearly struggling, sounding a little frustrated at her inability to voice her concerns but he thinks he understands. At least he hopes he does. Softly, he presses a soft kiss to the back of her neck.

 

_'s all right. Ain't gotta do nothin' y'ain't ready for._ He leaves out the part where he's about ten years away from being _ready_ , terrified just to lay this close to her. The way her entire body shivers against his when his breath tickles her as he speaks is too distracting, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut, trying to calm himself.

 

What really makes his skin tighten is that she said she _wants_ to, and just the thought alone is driving him insane. He can't help but allow his thoughts to wander there, and it's all too easy with her entire body pressed against his.

 

Carol takes a deep breath, her rib cage expanding against his chest, and then she's tugging at his hand again. He puts up no fight to let her guide him where she wants him, but his eyes go wide as saucers when she guides him up to press his hand against her breast. The weight of it is warm under his palm, and all rational thought quickly begins to fade.

 

_I thought-_ His voice sounds too high, too breathless, yet even as Carol drops her hand his own remains.

 

_Touch me._

 

The words send a spark of electricity through his system and he buries his head in the crook of her neck, pressing his lips to the warm, soft skin there. Carol cranes her neck to make more room for his caresses and that's when he finally finds the courage to move his hands, cupping her breast properly and drawing his thumb over her nipple that's instantly straining against the cotton of her shirt. The gentle touch draws a breathy whimper from her that he wants to hear over and over again.

 

He's trying to be gentle, not wanting to push this too far. But it's a real struggle not to let all this get to his head, especially when Carol turns her head enough for her lips to craze his skin and he gives in, lifting his head and kissing her deeply until she moans. The sound causes a familiar tug low in his abdomen and he starts to feel himself hardening against his jeans. With his mind clouded his hand finds the neckline of her shirt and slips easily under the fabric. He even forgets to remind himself to ask permission but Carol doesn't seem to mind, slightly gasps into their kiss when his hand finds bare skin.

 

_Wait._ She pulls away from him so quickly that he's sure he must've fucked up. When she sits up he's ready to be send away but instead she pulls her shirt over her head, exposing milky skin to the moonlight. Even just the silhouette of her is so stunning that he can't help but stare even though he can't make out much in the darkness. All too quickly, she lies back down, turning away from him and he knows this can't have been easy for her, baring herself to him.

 

Now that she is back he doesn't waste any time to reach over her and cup her breast again, not wanting the moment to pass because of insecurities and embarrassment. Her skin feels warm and soft and he can't help but nuzzles his nose into the soft curls of her hair, circling his thumb over her nipple ever so slightly. Afraid to hurt her. Afraid to want too much.

 

By now he is painfully hard, scooting back on the bed a little to put some distance in between them. Carol, however, won't have any of it, reaching behind herself to rest a firm hand on his hip and keep him still.

 

_It's okay._ She sounds out of breath as she tries to reassure him, tugging him a little closer. _Can you.... I want..._

 

He mouths a row of kisses along her pulse point, feeling the warmth of her hand soaking through his jeans. _Ya can tell me._ He'd give her anything right now, he knows it, too consumed by the need to feel her shiver again, to hear those whimpers, to see her when she comes undone.

 

_I want to feel you,_ she confesses shyly, turning her head enough for him to see her face, and they stare at each other for a moment before he nods, his mouth too dry to speak.

 

Mercifully, she turns back around when he sits up, almost as if she knows. His fingers tremble when he unbuttons his shirt, and it takes him much longer than usual. He tell himself that she's seen his chest before, that she _knows_ , that she can't see him in the dark, and he can keep the scars on his back a secret from her like this. It's a burden he won't allow to taint this moment.

 

Finally, he shrugs out of his shirt, mindlessly tossing it to the bottom of the bed. Quickly resuming his position behind her, he sighs when his bare chest presses against her back, smooth and soft and warm and more than worth exposing himself like this.

 

Only now he doesn't really know how to proceed from here, what it is she wants and where all this is supposed to go in the end. But he figures that she liked what he did before well enough and so he kisses her behind her ear and cups her breast again. She lets him for a moment, arches into his touch with labored breaths and small, breathy sounds, but then she grasps his hand again, tugging it away from her breasts.

 

_Touch me._ He can barely hear her plea as she drags his hand down over the swell of her stomach and to the waistline of her pants. All he can do is nod, even though he has to press his face into her neck to keep himself calm. Nervous fingers trace the waistline for a moment as her hand falls down onto the bed and then his own slips beneath the fabric of her pants and underwear, his breath hitching in his throat.

 

He decides then to move quickly, not to tease and risk either of them losing their courage, and so he cups her without ceremony where she's warm and wet and he can't help but choke out her name. Her own moan tears through the quiet room and his hips bucks helplessly against her ass, desperate for release.

 

Even though he moved so quickly, he feels a little lost now, barely remembering the last time he touched a woman like this. And even then it was never something that lasted long, never more than a half-hearted attempt at getting her off before he came too early, his own itch scratched in a drunken state. This is different, though, and all he wants – much more than his own release – is to make Carol feel good.

 

He maps her out at first, slipping his fingers through her wetness, feeling her writhe in his arms as he explores and memorizes her reactions. Paints a picture in his mind.

 

_Please,_ she begs after a while, but he's not quite sure what she's asking for. He doesn't have the guts to ask her what she wants, though, and so he has to figure it out on his own. His fingers find her entrance then and he dips inside just a little, an easy glide but God she's tight around him. Feeling himself throbbing with need, he's unable to keep from thrusting up against her in small, erratic movements that barely ease his own desire but only stoke the flames more.

 

He slides his fingers in properly, down to the knuckle, slowly and paying close attention to her reaction. The last thing he wants is to hurt her because he's too clumsy or rough. In an attempt to distract her from any pain she might feel, he mouths kisses down her neck but she moans, whimpers his name and tilts her hips to suck him further inside. Slowly, he begins to withdraw again, setting a slow and easy rhythm as his fingers drag along the slick walls of her.

 

It's mesmerizing how responsive she is to him, all these sounds she makes driving him to the brink of insanity. Still, he can't tell if she's close, if what he's doing is enough.

 

He gets his answer when she slips her hand into her own pants, resting it on top of his own.

 

_Here._ He's glad she can't see his flustered expression when she shows him what to do, gently pulling his fingers from her with a mourning whimper before guiding him up higher until he feels a small nub. She chokes out his name, her fingers digging almost painfully into his to keep him in place, and then she's guiding him, circling his finger there and if she was responsive before she's vibrating now.

 

Eventually, she pulls her hand away, and reaches behind herself instead to curl it around the back of his neck. He can smell her now, heady and intoxicating and his kisses on her neck become less gentle, the movements of his hips less careful, and he replaces his index finger with his thumb, circling just the way she showed him while he slips two fingers back into her. It's a struggle to maintain some kind of a rhythm but it doesn't matter because he's barely been doing this for a minute when she gasps his name, clamping down around him as her body goes rigid. Suddenly, everything is warmer and tighter and wetter than before and he groans helplessly, slowing down his strokes and stilling his own hips because he's about one second away from coming in his pants.

 

Her muscles flutter around his fingers for a while longer, but then she shifts her hips away. _Too much,_ she gasps and he quickly pulls his hand out of her pants, resting it against the top of her thigh. In the aftermath, he just waits, allowing her to catch her breath.

 

He's a little surprised he didn't come just from the sight and feel of her, but he's still harder than he's ever been in his life and he's starting to feel a little lightheaded. He hopes he can slip away for a moment soon unless she wants him to fidget and shift around for a good long while – that's if she wants him to stay at all – but then Carol turns her head and he just catches a glimpse of a smile before she kisses him, deep and languid and unlike any other kiss they have shared before. There's gratitude and desire in the kiss but also a sense of laziness, a slowness that he knows only she can feel right now.

 

Her hand moves from his neck , ghosting over his ribs and making him tense a little. He fights his body's reaction, pushes away all the bad memories and instead focuses on how good it feels to have _her_ hands on him. His calm composure shatters, though and a groan tears from his chest when she reaches between them and cups him through his jeans with a firm touch and he can't help but buck into her touch, his hips jolting forward.

 

She uses his moment of breathlessness and surprise pull away from the kiss. _Take them off,_ she says breathlessly.

 

He swallows, suddenly nervous all over again even though she has her hand right on him. _Y'ain't gotta... Ya know. Do anythin'._

 

The way she smiles sweetly tells him that she knows he means it, but at the same time she traces the outline of him through the thick denim. He curses under his breath, unable to hide just how much he wants her to do _everything_.

 

_I want to. Really,_ she reassures him, feathering kisses along his jaw, and he briefly nods in encouragement.

 

His fingers tremble violently when he reaches down to unbuckle his belt and she makes some much needed room. He makes quick work of it all, careful when he drags the zipper down over his erection and then he shuffles out of his pants, clumsily pushing them over his hips and kicking them off. In a last attempt at modesty, he leaves his briefs on, although they do little to hide just how much he wants her.

 

A curious smile curls Carol's lips as she peaks down and he knows she can't see much more than he can, but it makes him feel a little better about himself nevertheless. She trails her hand down his stomach then, his muscles contracting under her light touch, before she slips it into his briefs without ceremony. A warm, soft hand curls around the base of him and draws a choked moan from his lips that sounds vaguely like her name.

 

It's been so long since he's had anyone touch him, since he got any relief except that of his own hand, and it's no comparison to her soft hand stroking him deftly up and down.

 

After a few second, and probably because the angle is straining her neck, she turns her head back around. Daryl instantly mourns being able to see her face, but he buries his face against her neck instead- Needing purchase, he grabs her hip with his hand and bucks into her strokes, his hold on her tightening when she drags her thumb over the tip of him to gather the moisture there.

 

Her strokes speed up quickly like she knows just how close he is, and then she's pulling him out of his briefs to give herself more room. For a moment he's pressed snugly against her tailbone and they both moan. But before the sensation gets too tempting to resist, she resumes her rhythm, stroking him faster and faster and with more pressure and he is so damn close. So fucking close.

 

Prickling white heat gathers at the base of his spine and it costs him all the strength he has to reach down and tug her hand away. She stiffens against him, quickly turning her head. Fear is evident in her eyes, fear that she did something wrong and he doesn't even want to imagine what ridicule and humiliation she must have suffered during her marriage.

 

She was doing everything right. Too right. Too much. It's all too much.

 

_Don't wanna..._ He blushes and stutters his way through the words, looking down at her bare, freckled shoulder. _Not all over ya._ This is all so brand new and innocent, just the thought of coming all over her back makes him cringe. To make a mess of her now... It feels cheap and wrong and he'd rather fall asleep without any release than demean her like that.

 

Carol smiles, her eyes glistening in the moonlight. _Lay down._ He's confused for a moment but then she pushes gently but determinedly against his chest until he rolls onto his back, his erection nestled against his abdomen. He watches as she pushes herself up, her legs tucked under her as he faces her. In the dim, silver light he can make out the swells of her breasts, the hollows of her collarbones, the round of her stomach, and as another round of fireworks illuminates the room for a moment he can see the flush on her face, too.

 

She doesn't allow him much more time to marvel at how beautiful she looks, though, before she reaches down and curls her hand around him again, picking up right where she left off.

 

This time, he can't hold back, desperately curling his fingers into the sheets and lifting his hips into her touch. It's all over a few seconds later when he feels white heat shooting down his spine and then he's coming all over her hand and his stomach and she still keeps going. With his eyes screwed shut and his breathing ragged, he feels the waves of his release rippling through his body. It's not until the last throbbing pulse has faded that she lets go of him.

 

He opens his eyes when Carol moves, watches as she slowly climbs out of bed and walks over to her dresser. She returns with a towel clutched to her chest, suddenly seeming a little uncomfortable under his gaze. Her arms are now crossed over her breasts and he understands it too well, stays flat on his back because he's not ready to show her the carnage his childhood left behind.

 

_Here._ She holds the towel out for him and he reaches up to take it but then she seems to change her mind, briefly worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. _Wait. Let me._ She sits back down on the bed next to him and starts cleaning him up, slow and gentle and he hums a little, relishing in the smile that the content sound draws from her. It feels good, too good.

 

When she's done she carefully tucks him back into his brief, throws the towel into the laundry basket, and then there's nothing left to do, nothing to distract them from what they've just done.

 

_Come 'ere._ He reaches out for her when he sees her body wavering under the weight of insecurity. This time, she lets him take her hand, lets him pull her down and lift the comforter over them until they are back to how they started, his bare chest pressed to her back with his lips presses behind her ear.

 

_You're so beautiful._ He cringes a little when he says the words, sounding awfully cheesy and just too much. But they're true and he sees the corner of her mouth lifting into a smile and that alone made it worth it. Slowly, he trails his hand down her side to rest against her stomach. It's silly to think he might be crossing a line here when he's just had his finger _inside_ of her a few minutes ago, but he still gives her time to reject his touch.

 

She never does.

 

_I had a waist once,_ she chuckles but he can still hear that she's a little self-conscious beneath the casual remark. He couldn't care less about any of it, and presses a tender kiss to the base of her neck.

 

_Don't matter ta me._

 

Her hand comes to rest on top of his, their fingers falling into place like lock and key. There's no need for more words right now and eventually their breathing slows and Daryl doesn't have a doubt that he'll stay here and not move an inch until the sun goes up. That she wants him here.

 

His fingers draw light circles on her belly until he's too tired to keep them up, until the fireworks cease and sleep finally claims him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sweating over whether or not to write smut for this fic for weeks now. It just seemed to me that it was too early and that the circumstances aren't very forgiving for them to be intimate. But I also felt like there's been a lot of build up and they deserve a moment like this, and I hope that the end result was neither too much nor too little and suited the progression of the story so far.
> 
> You were spoiled this week with three updates instead of two because I'll probably only be able to post one chapter next week :/


	18. the elephant in the room

He stirs from his sleep slowly, second by second passing by like honey dripping from a jar. The first thing he notices is how warm he is, a warmth that seeps into his bones. Then, he slowly remembers the source of that warmth, the soft body pressed against his own, slowly stirring in his arms.

 

Delicate fingers are entwined with his, tracing the sensitive skin of his palm lazily, a light grasp, easy to slip put of if he wanted to. But he doesn't, he never wants to move away from this embrace. Instead, he burrows his face further into the soft curls of her hair, breathing in the scent of her.

 

After a while, he cracks open his eyes, groaning at the too bright sunlight that illuminates the room, not obscured by the blinds they forgot to close last night. Quickly, he hides in the crook of Carol's neck, and she hums softly in response, clearly awake now.

 

_Morning,_ she says quietly, giving his hand a light squeeze.

 

He grunts in response, not sure if he's awake enough to talk yet. Instead he presses a kiss to her pulse point, the skin warm and smooth. Memories of last night heat up the blood in his veins when she cranes her neck, a content sound passing her lips like a song.

 

_I don't want to get up. Ever,_ she mumbles, her voice still thick with sleep. Her fingers lazily trace the lines on his palm, mapping them out like little rivers and she shifts back to lean further against him. Somehow, his leg slipped in between hers over night and he has to grind his teeth and stay immobile when she accidentally grinds against him just right.

 

Suddenly, he's not even a little sleepy anymore.

 

_Can stay here,_ he rasps, feeling her shiver as his breath fans over her skin. _Ain't got nothin' ta do._ Softly, he mouths kisses along the side of her neck, nuzzling his nose into her hair. It's easy to picture them spending the whole day in bed. Learning each other.

 

Carol laughs softly. _I have to pee._ He snorts, pressing one last kiss to her skin before leaning up on his elbow a little. It gives Carol room to turn to look at him with hazy eyes and a smile curling her lips. _And I'm hungry._

 

Slowly, her hand comes up to cup his cheek, fingers trailing delicately over the stubble of his beard and the jut of his jaw. Then, feather lightly, she ghosts down his neck where his pulse hammers excitedly. She maps him out again, inch by inch until her hand finds a place to rest against his shoulder.

 

He leans down to kiss her when her splayed fingers edge closer towards his heart. The second their lips meet she sighs, the sound music to his ears. He's more eager than he probably should be, cradling her head in his hands and shifting until he is laying partially on top of her, their mostly bare bodies smooth and calloused, soft and hard.

 

_Daryl,_ she breathes when he parts the kiss to suck some much needed air into his lungs. When he looks at her, her blue eyes are dark and he swallows. _I really need to pee._

 

The tension instantly falls away and he barks out a laugh, rolling off her and back onto the soft mattress, the comforter falling away.

 

He stays flat on his back, hiding himself best he can when Carol climbs out of bed. Her skin looks milky and soft in the light of the morning sun and he can't see his fill. The long expanse of her back with the dip of her tailbone just above the line of her pants. The swells of her full breasts that he lingers on, his fingers and lips aching to touch and taste the dusty pink of her nipples.

 

Every inch of her is so damn beautiful, and he can't help but stare for a while longer before he tears his eyes away, meeting her gaze. The blush that tints her cheeks and neck is mesmerizing and so is the shy smile that lights up her whole face.

 

Quickly, though, she grabs her discarded shirt from the bottom of the bed and pulls it back over her head, slipping out of the room with one last glance over her shoulder.

 

* * *

 

_Could've waited for me._ Stepping up to where Carol is standing at the stove, Daryl wraps his arms around her, his hands coming to rest on her belly. She is already busy making breakfast, and has somehow managed to fill the house with a heavenly scent in the short time he spent in the bathroom.

 

She hums a soft welcome and leans back against him when he props his chin on her shoulder.

 

_I'm starving._ Turning her head she presses a kiss to his lips, brief but sweet. When she pulls away again he takes in the sight of the fluffy pancakes she's flipping in the pan. His stomach growls right on cue, reminding him just how hungry he is, too.

 

It still seems unfair that she's always doing all the cooking - not that he'd be all that great at it. _Need any help?_ he asks, nuzzling his nose down the slender line of her neck. Even now he still doesn't have quite enough of the feel of her so close to him.

 

Almost absent-mindedly his fingers rub slow circles on her belly, the baby moving excitedly inside and he wonders if what Carol said is true. That her little girl recognizes the sound of his voice.

 

It takes Carol a while to answer because she leans into his embrace, reaching behind herself to curl her hand around the back of his neck. _Coffee,_ she whispers, dragging her nails down his scalp and drawing a low groan from him.

 

This is getting out of hand too quickly and his heart begins to race furiously. But he knows they both need to eat and he doesn't want to push his luck. Plus, what she said last night is true for him, as well. He wants her, badly. All of her. But he ain't ready any more than she is.

 

_On it,_ he murmurs, pressing one last kiss below her ear before he steps away.

 

When she actually _mewls_ at the loss, his heart skips a beat.

 

* * *

 

His legs are spread wide enough to make room for her, her back pressed to his chest, a warm hand resting on his thigh. His own hands have found their place on the swell of her stomach, the baby inside now still. Sleeping, he thinks, wondering of they even do that.

 

Turning slightly so that her head is tucked under his chin and her cheek pressed to his chest, Carol takes a deep breath. _There's something we should talk about._ An uneasy feeling settles in his stomach. He had worried about this, that they might need to talk about what last night meant.

 

But when she speaks again after a few seconds that stretch on like an hour, she surprises him. _Sophia. I mean..._ Clearly struggling to find the right words, Carol drums her fingers against his thigh. _When she's here... We- I don't..._

 

_Hey._ He keeps his voice low, presses a kiss to the crown of her head. _Just say what'ya wanna say._

 

With a sigh, she tenses in his arms. _I'm pregnant, Daryl. And I.... I really like you._ It's mostly a whisper, and he has a feeling she is glad not to have to look at him. But even without seeing her face the words make him dizzy. _But I don't want... You didn't ask for all of this. And if it's too much, I understand._

 

Very quickly, he's starting to figure out what she is saying. Deep down he'd been afraid she'd tell him she's not ready for more than what they were before, whatever that was. _She's not your baby, you don't have to... I'm just saying that it's okay not to... not to want this._ With a strangled voice she is giving him an out. There is no denying that the thought of a baby scares him like Hell, but he also knows he won't give up the best thing in his life out of fear. And that is her. Nothing has ever made him feel as light and content as she has. He won't risk that. Never.

 

He knows this is the moment he has to stand up for once in his life and _say_ something, that he needs to tell her how much she means to me. That he's in for this no matter what.

 

_I want ya._ The words blurt from his mouth and he squeezes his eyes shut from how wrong that sounded. Talking has never been his strong suit and the words just stumbled from his heart to his lips and out into the open. _Wanna be with ya._ He corrects himself in a much softer voice, and Carol melts a little. She leans into him further, her hand finding his and linking their fingers the way that feels so natural now.

 

_An' the kid's part o' ya. Know it ain't gonna be easy. Ain't got a damn clue 'bout kids._ It all feels so much more real now than it did before. Still, it's hard to grasp the idea that there is going to be a baby soon. He can't imagine himself with one. _No idea how much help'm gonna be. But I ain't walking away now. I..._ He buries his face in her hair, murmurs the next few words against her ear with flushed cheeks and a quick pulse. She shivers in response. _I really like ya, too._

 

She turns her head determinedly and kisses him, soft and fleeting, whispering against his lips with so much hope and fear laced into her words. _If it's ever too much-_

 

Lightly, he bumps the tip of his nose against hers, stealing one more kiss because he can and it's something he still can't quite believe. _Let's take it a day at a time, all right? 'm here now an' I kinda really like that, too._ The smile that curls his lips feels natural, and she smiles right back at him, all shy and innocent. Grateful.

 

_Me, too._ She leans back against his chest then, humming contently before a comfortable silence takes over for a while.

 

_Last night...,_ Carol says after a while, tracing random patterns on his thigh with the pad of her finger. _Was that- you know._ She's a little tense again, not as much as before but still shifting on the blanket they are sitting on. _Was that any good?_

 

_What'ya mean?_

 

She clears her throat, remains silent for a while like she can't quite bring herself to say what she has on her mind. He would know all about it and so he doesn't push, waits for her to find the courage or the right words, whatever it is she is looking for right now. _When I... Ed always said I was..._

 

Suddenly and with stark, angry clarity, he understands. It is her insecurity talking, the kind that was beaten into her. _Hey,_ he interrupts her, cupping her chin and turning her head gently to face him. He can't bear the thought of her doubting for even a second that she did anything wrong, that last night wasn't the best night of his life. _Whatever the fuck that son of a bitch said, it ain't true._

 

Her eyes have lowered down to a point between them, and the nod she gives him is weak. Old demons dig their merciless and sharp claws in, threatening to tear her away from him.

 

_It was... it was good._ Now it's his turn to blush, to even cringe a little because he doesn't talk about this stuff, about sex and feelings and whatever else people talk about who aren't as fucked in the head as he is. _Was real good. For me._

 

There's an unspoken question hidden in his whisper, his own insecurity lifting its head. He has so little experience with all of this. _All_ of this. And while he knows he didn't fail entirely last night he's still not sure that he did enough, that he did it right, that he did it the way she likes it.

 

Carol cups his cheek then, a tender touch that feels like sunshine on his skin. Her eyes light up, rosy lips curled into a relieved smile, almost as if his own doubts comforted her somehow. _It was good for me, too,_ she reassures him before wrapping her arms a little awkwardly around his neck to kiss him. She has to twist her torso and he helps to keep her steady, melting into the kiss.

 

He lets it all sink in. The softness of her skin (as soft as a flower petal). The taste of her lips (like sweet tea and pancakes and honey). The sound of her voice (light and gentle like a lullaby).

 

He'll never let go of her until she wants him to. He knows that now. No matter what lies ahead, they can face it together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the slight delay. Real life has been pretty crap over the past few weeks and that finally caught up with my writing inspiration. I'm sorry the chapter is so short and uneventful, especially considering it's the only one you'll get this week because I have work stuff coming up in the next few days that means I'll have zero time to write.
> 
> I do hope you still enjoyed this chapter, thank you all so much for the support :)


	19. nine lives

_What's wrong? Are you okay?_ Carol storms into his house on surprisingly quick feet, instantly reaching out to clutch his arm. Her face is flushed, her coat not zipped and she is completely out of breath. That alone is enough to make him feel bad for just texting her and not elaborating more. For no actual reason at all, she seems genuinely concerned.

 

_'m fine, ain't me,_ he reassures her, quickly shutting the door to keep out the icy cold. Gently, he steers Carol towards the couch, the look of confusion that replaced her concern only intensifying. Still, she doesn't put up a struggle.

 

_But-_

 

_There._ He points at the couch, one hand still resting on Carol's shoulder. _Found it on the damn porch._

 

_Found wha-_ Carol takes a curious step closer, gasping when she spots the bundle on the couch. When she speaks again, already sinking gracelessly down onto the floor, her voice has gone an octave higher. _Oh my God. It's so small._

 

Shaking his head, Daryl stares down at the cat sleeping on his couch. Gray fur and gray eyes, small and thin and wrapped in a blanket he'd dragged from the closet. When Carol sits down next to it, two big, gray eyes open slowly. _The fuck 'm I gonna do about it?_

 

He'd heard it crying outside yesterday already but then it stopped after a while and he assumed it went away. But then he heard it again today. For a while, he ignored it but then the wind picked up outside, swirling the snow around and while he didn't feel responsible he did feel bad so he let it inside. It just curled up on the floor right then and there and that didn't seem right, either, so he carefully carried it over to the couch, wrapped it up in the blanket and gave it some water.

 

Now it looks like it thinks it belongs here, sleeping and getting his couch dirty and damp.

 

Carol turns around and looks at him with raised brows. _Don't tell me that's why you called me over. Because you don't know what to do._

 

His cheeks flame up instantly because yes, that is exactly why he texted her to come over as soon as possible. He never had a cat, never even cared about them and he sure as hell never had to take care of one that's clearly in terrible shape. Embarrassed, he worries his thumbnail with his teeth. _Well-_

 

_We're taking it to the vet, of course,_ Carol announces, sounding fierce and determined, although she doesn't really look the part when she pushes herself off the floor on wobbly legs. He resists the urge to help her and she manages just fine on her own, although her breathing is a little labored by the time she's back on her feet. _Right now. What else did you think we were gonna do?_

 

That really wasn't the answer he'd hoped for. _The vet? Ya kiddin', right? I wanna pay my damn rent, ya know?_

 

She makes a frustrated sound somewhere between a huff and a sigh, crossing her arms in front of her chest as best as she can. _Daryl. We're taking it to the vet. Now. Look at it, it looks so sad._ Her own voice goes soft and she points down and damn it, the little thing is looking at him with big, creepy eyes, making a whining sound that has Carol sighing and reaching down, hovering her hand in front of the cat's face until it sniffs it.

 

_Was cryin' on my damn porch for an hour._

 

Carol's eyes go wide, a gasp escaping her that instantly makes him feel like he committed a crime. _And you didn't let it in?_

 

Maybe he should feel bad, Daryl wonders. But then again there's plenty of animals living outside and they're just fine. This one probably just wants to suck up to get some extra food. _'s just gonna think it owns the damn place. Don't need no cat in here._

 

The only response he gets to that is a shake of Carol's head. _Vet. Now._

 

* * *

 

_Guess there goes my rent for this month,_ Daryl sighs, drumming his finger against the wheel of his truck. He's going at a much slower pace than he would like but the roads are a mess and this is as fast as he'll dare. Especially with Carol sitting next to him. _Gonna sleep at work. Starve._

 

Their little trip to the vet had cost him a pretty amount of money, nothing he couldn't afford but much more than he was willing to spend in one go. The cat, a girl as they now know, turned out to be in even worse shape than expected. Nothing that can't be fixed with attention, care and apparently a shitload of money, though.

 

_Shut up,_ Carol chuckles, properly wrapped up in her scarf and gloves and with the cat securely wrapped in a blanket on the swell of her stomach. _It wasn't that bad. And just look at her._

 

He does glances down at the knotted and dirty gray fur, the muddy paws sticking out under the blanket, eyes half-open in curiosity. _Looks miserable._

 

Carol throws him a fiery and intimidating glance, clearly still blaming him for his lack of enthusiasm. Gently, she pets the cat's head, earning herself a weak purr. _So would you if you stood on someone's porch in the cold, asking for help and they ignored you for an hour._ Every single word is laced with accusation – and he probably deserves it. Or Carol is going soft.

 

_Didn't think it needed help, ya know? 's a cat, not a baby._ He doesn't want her to think he's cruel, and by now he does feel a little bad for not instantly rescuing the cat like a goddamn knight in shining armor.

 

Carol's expression turns sad and he quickly looks back to the road, almost allowing himself to get distracted. _She's all alone._

 

_Ya don't know that,_ he tries to convince her. After all, it might have family out there. Maybe she just got lost. Ultimately, it doesn't matter, though. Slowing down the truck, he turns right, silently cursing the car in front of them that's going much slower than necessary, even in this weather.

 

_Where are you going?_

 

_The shelter._

 

_Excuse me?_ Carol sounds genuinely baffled, staring at him with wide eyes.

 

Now, he's just confused again. _What?_

 

_We're_ not _taking her to a shelter._

 

He is grateful for the red light coming up, stopping the truck and staring at Carol intently, trying to figure her out. _Where else we gonna take her?_

 

_Home, of course._ The word _home_ strikes a cord with him but he pushes that thought away. Instead, he eyes the messy fur ball in her arms which she is cradling closer to herself now in such a protective manner that he feels sympathy simmering inside of him.

 

The idea of taking the cat home again wipes that away though.

 

_Ya gotta be shittin' me,_ he groans. _What'ya need a cat for? Y'ain't more than a sneeze away from propping out that kid._ Carol snorts, but even she knows he isn't wrong. She's only two weeks away from her due date and looks ready to burst any second. It means he's in a constant state of unease around her, always waiting for it to happen, for everything to change again.

 

_Oh, I can't have a cat in the house now,_ Carol explains, her eyes glimmering with mischief. Slowly, the corners of her mouth curl up into a smirk and he knows exactly what she's planning inside that pretty head of hers. _But you can. Don't even try to say no._

 

* * *

 

_And I thought your kid had tons o' crap it don't need._

 

It almost feels like deja vu. They are standing in an aisle at the pet store and once again Daryl is pushing an overflowing cart full of stuff in front of him. It ranges from litter and food to cushions to blankets to scratchy toys and stuffed animals and bowls. Carol seems to be in her element, picking combs and brushes from the shelf while holding one hand firmly against her stomach.

 

He read about this the other day. About nesting. Only now he wonders if it applies to stray cats, as well.

 

_It's not crap, you're just being grumpy again,_ Carol chirps, not at all deterred by his foul mood. Quite the contrary, her eyes are glowing as she casts a comb into the cart and moves on to something that looks like gardening gloves, a few of them lined up on hooks to inspect.

 

Tired and maybe really a little grumpy, Daryl supports his weight on the cart handle, watching her. _Don't like cats,_ he states, keeping his voice down to protect himself from any crazy cat ladies roaming this place. They're stubborn and proud little things, and sure as hell not the dog he always wanted. The dog _Carol_ told him to get. But he figures he can kiss that dream goodbye now. At least for a while.

 

_Not a valid argument,_ Carol counters with a wink, sounding all too cheerful as she raises to her tip toes to pull a packaged glove from the shelf. She nearly loses her balance in the process and he's quick to reach out and steady her. _Will you get that thing down, please?_

 

He rolls his eyes and grabs it from the shelf, wondering who exactly is going to pay for all this stuff. By now, he's beginning to wonder if he's really going to have to starve this month. _She ain't stayin'._ It feels like he's said this a dozen times by now, but either Carol completely ignores him or she doesn't care. _So why do we need all this crap?_

 

He didn't step away from her and she's suddenly so close, looking up at him with cheeks rosy from the cold and an endearing smile on her lips. _To make her feel comfortable,_ she says softly, sounding all too reasonable.

 

No matter what, he still doesn't see himself with a cat in the house. Desperately, he looks for a straw that will make her agree with him before she ends up converting him to the idea. _Gonna get damn cat hair all over the place. An' cat piss reeks._

 

Carol rolls her eyes at his lame attempt, but before he can add more stupid reasons to his list she is leaning up and presses a kiss to his lips. Right here in the middle of the aisle where everybody can see. _Shut up,_ she breathes against his lips, her fingers entwining with his and all rational thought floats off into space.

 

* * *

 

_She likes it._

 

_She better. Might as well be made 'o gold._

 

The furry little thing is freshly bathed and padded dry – both of which she was surprisingly okay with. She's fed and combed and even gobbled down her medication and now she's curled up on a massive, thick cushion that Carol placed right under the heater in the living room. It's plush and soft and pink. _Ya sure ya should be touchin' her that much?_ he asks, watching Carol where she's crouched on the floor again, gently rubbing her fingers through the cat's fur. The little thing purrs like her life depends on it, eyes half-closed. _She might give ya some weird cat disease. Worms an' shit._

 

Carol doesn't even look up at him, completely enthralled by the cat. It does look a lot less dirty and maybe a little cute after all, but he won't admit it. At least not out loud. _I can wash my hands just fine. And since you're not making an effort-_

 

_Just bought all this stuff,_ he interrupts her, defending himself. He points at the two large bags that are still left unpacked by the front door, but Carol doesn't seem to agree. Instead, she shakes her head and reaches a hand out towards him.

 

_Come over here._ Her voice is soft, not urgent but still determined in her unique way.

 

_What?_

 

_Come here. Now._ He sighs in defeat, stepping over there across squeaky floorboards and kneels down. The cat looks up curiously and makes a funny, disgruntled little sound. _Here._ Carol gently takes his hand, leads it down to the cat who turns onto her back instantly, showing off her fluffy belly. There's little force behind the movement when she puts his hand there without fanfare, and it's pure instinct when he starts petting the cat, his fingers running through the incredibly soft fur.

 

_'s soft._

 

He can feel Carol's eyes on him, her hand still resting on top of his and then she leans into him. Her head finds a resting place against his shoulder, the scent and warmth of her still overwhelming to him. _She likes it. Listen._ The cat purrs even more now than before and even Daryl can't deny what a nice, soothing sound it is. _She's so cute._

 

_Guess,_ he shrugs, nuzzling the little chest and feeling a tiny heart beating beneath. One pink paw comes up to hold his hand in place, and he's surprised by the twitch of muscles in the corners of his mouth.

 

Carol nuzzles her nose against his shoulder, almost as needy for touch as the cat, he thinks. _What are we gonna name her?_ The _we_ in her sentence makes his heart stutter for a beat before her words really register. He snorts with little humor, still determined not to let her get away with this whole thing.

 

_Ain't gonna keep it._

 

* * *

 

eight days later:

 

His laptop is making a pathetic whizzing sound, hot in his lap as he scrolls through a list of tips to get newborn babies to sleep – the forth article of this kind he's read in the last hour. It's a loud bang from the kitchen that draws his attention away from it, a groan tearing from his throat. _What'ya knock over now?_

 

Setting the laptop down on the coffee table, he marches over to the kitchen. The carnage isn't hard to miss, the bowl he ate his cereal from scattered on the ground in a puddle of leftover milk. The cat sits right next to it, unfazed by his presence, but the few droplets of milk still dotting her nose give her away. _Ya know, ya could just play with them damn toys._ They are scattered all over his house, squeaking and smelling of weird herbs. But she only tilts her head a little, curious and stubborn at the same time. _Don't look at me like that._

 

Kneeling down to carefully pick up the shards, he notices the still untouched bowl of cat food in the corner. _An' what's wrong with ya food, by the way? Ain't gonna buy another damn box._ She's been fussy about it for a few days now, ever since she apparently ate enough to get past the starvation stage and now she's driving him nuts. Sending him to the store every other day in this damn weather to buy a different brand of cat food when they all have the same stench. _So eat it or starve, whatever._

 

She gives him a soft meow in response and he feels some of his frustration melting away. Silently, she walks up to him, pressing herself up to his leg, purring. Gray eyes wide open and curious. _Yeah, yeah. I know,_ he sighs, gently drawing his fingers over the top of her head until she gives him a slow, heartwarming blink.

 

* * *

 

four days later:

 

_Daryl._ The sound of his name is so damn sweet that he thinks for a second that he's still dreaming. But then the gentle pressure of a hand on his shoulder jolts him from his sleep. _Wake up._

 

He sits up gasping slightly, the couch creaking a little under the sudden movement and the cat that's warm on his chest makes a disgruntled sound. _Wha- oh._ Carol is leaning over him, clearly biting back a grin and he wipes the sleep from his eyes. _Hey._

 

The keys to his house which he gave her are dangling from her fingers. _Hey. I guess you have company already._ She points down to the cat curled up on top of him, purring softly and leaning into her touch when she reaches down to pet her. _And here I thought you were taking me out to see a movie. You could have called, you know?_

 

He instantly panics. Of course he didn't forget about the date they had planned, a movie and then dinner at a proper restaurant afterwards like normal people who do things the normal way. Really, he'd only meant to sit down and shut his eyes for a second but now it's dark outside and Carol has lipstick on and earrings tangled up in her auburn hair and looks so beautiful. He, on the other hand, can feel his hair sticking in all directions. _Shit, 's that late already? 'm sorry, fell asleep an-_ He stops abruptly when Carol starts giggling. _What'ya laughin' at?_

 

With as much effort as every simple action requires these days, she sits down on the couch, squeezing into his side as the cushions give in to her weight. _It's fine, we still have two hours._

 

Quickly, he checks the clock on the wall and she is right. His heart rate settles a little and he narrows his eyes at her for teasing him more than he thinks he deserves. _Ass,_ he mutters and gently nudges her back with his knee, but she just grins, looking a little proud of herself.

 

_I know._ All that's missing is her tongue sticking out but she thankfully spares him that. That would only be distracting. She does lean forward, though, but only to ruffle the cat's belly. The little one turned onto her back, always eager for attention. _Hey, Dorothy. Is it cozy there? Yeah, I bet it is._ Her voice goes high and soft, all melodic. The name had been her idea, and so far he refuses to use it. Name for an old woman, he thinks. Not a cat. But Carol had insisted on it and the rainbow colored collar, too. He still doesn't get what a cat needs a damn collar for. _You little cutie pie._

 

_I ain't cozy, ya know?_ The hand that isn't stuck under the cat's butt and going numb reaches out for Carol, resting on her arm. His heart flutters when she gives him a smile that heats the blood in his veins, her blue eyes briefly going dark.

 

_You are. I know._ She pauses for a long moment, their eyes fixed on each other, and then she nods down to the greedy cat, breaking the spell. _And so does she._

 

He snorts, the cat grumbling in response like she does most of the time he opens his mouth. _Stop._

 

_You're her big hero._ The way she says it is a little theatrical and he can't help but chuckle. _She came to you for help and now she loves you. How sweet is-_ She stops suddenly and it's only in the silence that follows that he registers the weight of her words. He feels his mouth going dry and his heart skipping every other beat because it suddenly seems like they're not talking about the cat anymore. But love is not a word he has ever considered possible for himself and now he suddenly has to, and not for the first time he has to wonder what this thing between them is and what it could become.

 

But he also knows they're not ready, not quite there yet. If he's being honest with himself, he doesn't know if either of them will ever be. But he does know that they're here right now and that Carol is clearly uncomfortable. Determined to change that, he wills the thoughts away.

 

_We eh-,_ he stutters, his mouth still dry, her words echoing continuously in his minds. _We gonna see that movie or not?_

 

Carol visibly relaxes, nodding softly as the tension eases from her body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate Daryl – he just really, really wanted a dog :) And for those of you who are curious, [this](http://www.zastavki.com/pictures/originals/2013/Animals___Cats__Cute_gray_cat_with_gray_eyes_046787_.jpg) is what I had in mind for little Dorothy.
> 
>  
> 
> On a different note, I really have to apologize for keeping you guys waiting for so long and I want to thank everyone who left me kind messages. 
> 
> The truth is that I, unlike most, was really disappointed with 7x10. I'm not going to go into my reasons for being disappointed because the last thing I want to do is spoil everyone's fun. Ultimately, I was disappointed to such a degree that I needed to step away from the fandom for a while. No reading, writing, not posting much on tumblr. I needed a break to clear my head and find the joy in it again. 
> 
> Writing a few drabbles helped me get back into the writing spirit. And I finally feel ready to dive back into this story. I might not upload as frequently as I did before since I'm still easing myself out of my break, but I just wanted to let you all know that I adore writing this story and felt really bad for keeping you all waiting. Thank you so much for all the love and support, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter and will enjoy the rest of this story. 
> 
> Hugs and kisses to all of you :)


	20. not ready

_Are you sure you don't need help?_ Carol calls softly from the couch. She's curled up there with Dorothy on her lap. Quiet music plays from her phone, the light of the candles flickering in the dimly lit room.

 

Daryl isn't one for praising himself but he is more than a little proud of the effort he made. Cleaning the whole place, lighting candles everywhere. He even bought proper napkins, set a huge bouquet of flowers in the center of his rarely used dining table.

 

_Nah, 'm good,_ he reassures her, his appearance wildly contradicting his words. As he preps the cheese sauce for the chicken lasagna, sweat pearls stubbornly on his forehead and the kitchen is a hellish mess from his struggle with the chocolate cake earlier. That is still in the oven, the heat of it sticking his shirt to his back.

 

Carol laughs a little from across the room. _It doesn't smell that good._

 

Daryl only now takes note of the slightly charred smell, muttering a colorful curse under his breath. One peak into the oven confirms that the top of the cake is a whole lot darker than it should be. Quickly, he turns down the heat, hoping that will help because the timer still hasn't gone off. _'s fine. Just burned a little._

 

_All right._ Carol doesn't sound all that convinced, and he can't blame her. _I'm here if you need me._

 

_Ya supposed ta relax,_ he calls over, quickly stirring the bubbling sauce, rich and thick from all the cheese he dumped into it.

 

His throat is a little scratchy and so is his voice, the cold weather finally taking its toll on him. Still, he invited Carol over for dinner. Usually, she does all the cooking but these days she's so exhausted and in constant discomfort. He wanted to do something to give back to her, to lift some weight off her shoulders.

 

He spent two days researching what pregnant women aren't allowed to eat so that he wouldn't accidentally cause her or Sophia harm. In the end, he'd been surprised by all he learned, feeling even more sorry for what she has to endure than he already did.

 

Now, he has the recipe for the chocolate cake and the lasagna printed out on the counter, already speckled in dough and sauce and other crap he can't even name anymore at this point.

 

_I don't mind helping. Really._ Of course she wouldn't. He turns around to look at her, strands of his hair sticking to his forehead. She looks so pretty tonight with her hair curled around her face and the loose, red blouse, her cheeks gleaming.

 

_Don't need ya help,_ he insists with a weak smile, trying to sound confident when truly he feels like he's stuck on some cooking or survival show and he's failing. Hard.

 

The problem isn't that he doesn't know how to cook at all. He cooked stews plenty of times after bringing home some game, but he doesn't really want to serve Carol some venison stew. He can do eggs just fine or some simple pasta dish that requires no skill, but he usually sticks to microwave meals after work and he wants to impress her tonight. So, he is miles out of his comfort zone.

 

Carol's grin doesn't go unnoticed and when she waves her hands dismissively, he feels like he just dug his own grave. _Okay, okay,_ she sings, turning her attention back to the purring cat.

 

* * *

 

_Fuck!_

 

Daryl clutches his finger to his chest, throbbing where the knife sliced through the skin. A tomato lies abandoned on the cutting board, a few slices already draped over the top of the lasagna.

 

_Daryl? Are you okay?_ Carol calls from the living room, sounding panicked. She rushes over to him as fast as she can, Dorothy following behind with a curious chirping sound.

 

_Yeah, just cut myself._ She's already by his side, her hands fluttering over his arm. Even through the pressure of his fist he can feel the blood seeping from the wound.

 

Soft fingers gently pry his hand free. _Let me see,_ she breathes and he opens up without a fight, wincing a little when the cut is exposed.

 

_Ain't deep._ He's had much worse over the years. The cut, long but shallow, will close up just fine in a little while, another scar to add to his collection.

 

Carols inspects the wound carefully, gently. _We should clean it anyway._ The soft pads of her fingers ghost over his palm and up the injured finger, staying clear of the cut. _Come on, sit down._ Gently, she tries to steer him towards the table, but he doesn't buck, throwing a worried look at the casserole dish on the counter.

 

_The food-_

 

Carol simply shakes her head, resting a hand on his shoulder and he moves without further hesitation. Taking three steps back until the chair hits the back of his legs, he sinks down. _I'll take care of it,_ Carol reassures him with a smile.

 

Disappointment spreads through him instantly and he looks down at the swell of her stomach, then to his own lap. _Ain't how I planned this._

 

The soft pressure of her hand on his shoulder moves up to his cheek. Entranced by her touch he looks up, just in time to see the complete contentment on her face before she leans down and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, whispering her next words. _It's fine._

 

The peaceful moment where they linger no more than an inch from each other passes all too quickly when Dorothy suddenly jumps up onto Daryl's lap. Carol yelps in surprise, taking a stumbling step backwards and Daryl quickly reaches out for her wrist to steady her. The cat, oblivious to what she's done, simply curls up on his lap, nuzzling her nose into his stomach. Staring down at the mess of gray fur, neither of them can hold in their laugh.

 

* * *

 

_There, all good. Carefully_ , Carol secures the bandage she wrapped around his finger, the wound now clean and already not as painful anymore.

 

_Thanks,_ Daryl says quietly, twisting his fingers a little. The pain has eased down to a dull throbbing, even though it had bled more than he expected. _Sorry 'bout this._ Still feeling disappointed, he points at the oven, the lasagna slowly cooking away in there. In the end, Carol had to finish decorating it, and put the heavy casserole dish into the oven with quite a bit of struggle.

 

Curiously, she tilts her head. _Why? It smells good. It looks good. It's perfect._ Mindful of his injured finger, she entwines her fingers with his, the most tender touch.

 

Daryl only shrugs, returning the slight pressure of her hand. _Nah. Ain't perfect._ Not the way it is when Carol does it, always delicious and peaceful and warm. With her, it always feels like home.

 

Her thumb brushes delicately over the back of his hand, lips curled into a mellow smile. _It is to me,_ she whispers, and his heart flutters like it does every time she says something like this. His meager self esteem purrs like the cat currently curled up on top of the table, eyeing them both with disdain after they nudged her off Daryl's lap earlier. Gently, he gently tugs at Carol's hand.

 

_Come 'ere._

 

She leans down without a pause and he can't hold back the sigh when their lips meet. It's warm and long and deep until he parts long enough to stand. But he reclaims her lips a second later, hands on her hips to turn her so she can sit on the edge of table. It can't be very comfortable but Carol shows no sign of wanting to stop, her legs parting eagerly for him to stand between them.

 

With his own hands clutching her sides, he pushes himself up to her as close as he can, never close enough with the swell of her stomach between them.

 

Her tongue is warm and soft in his mouth, and when his teeth just slightly nip at her bottom lip, she pulls away with a gasp of his name. Her forehead drops down to his jaw, lips mouthing kisses down his neck and he knows they are taking this too far.

 

He tries to speak but his throat is too dry, and so he cranes his neck back instead to allow Carol more room. And hell she makes use of it, running her tongue down his pulse point like she's trying to prove something. _It's-_ he chokes, the hold of his fingers on her sides tightening. _'s gonna burn._ At this point, he's not sure if he's talking about the food or himself - because if she keeps doing this he's going to burst into flames right here. He tries to pull away but she won't let him, clutches his arms, his hips, everything she can reach with her quick and clever fingers.

 

_Don't worry,_ she murmurs, the hum of her voice against his throat maddening. _I turned the heat down._ He doesn't remember her doing that but he hardly remembers his own name when her nose nuzzles against his thrumming pulse point. It costs him all his willpower to pull away, the grip of her thighs loosening around his hips.

 

He swallows, meeting her heady gaze. _We gotta stop._ It's the last thing he wants to do and the proof of that is pressed against the inside of her thigh right now. Her eyes darken when she notices, her teeth briefly worrying her bottom lip. Then, quickly, her face softens again.

 

_I'm sorry._ She lets go of him, her hands coming to rest on the table on either side of her. The look that crosses her face is quite miserable and he lifts her chin with his fingers.

 

Her eyes flicker up, shy and cautious. _'s all right._ As he tries to reassure her, nervousness spreads through his body like wildfire, settling in the pit of his stomach, chasing away all arousal. _We got time, right?_

 

It is not tonight he is talking about, and he hopes dearly that she understands that. He remembers her talking about right times and wrong times that day on a park bench in Savannah, and now isn't the time to take this further. Not tonight. But he wonders every day how much time they still have - how much time _he_ has left until the universe takes her away from him again. Giving his fear away, his eyes flicker down to her belly and not for the first time he wonders how everything will change once Sophia is born.

 

Carol seems to understand his struggle, putting her own insecurities aside to guide his and to her stomach. _Yes,_ she whispers hoarsely, and the tears that dwell in both their eyes are a silent promise.

 

* * *

 

_That was good._ Way more elegantly than him, Carol wipes her mouth with a napkin. Daryl is still busy stuffing the last bit of cheese into his mouth that he scraped from his now empty plate, feeling warm and full. _Really good._

 

He smiles shyly at the veiled compliment, shifting his weight on the chair because Dorothy fell asleep on his lap about fifteen minutes ago. _Not as good as yours,_ he says in return, relishing in her blush. They fall silent for a moment, but then he pushes his empty plate away from him. _Gonna clean this up before dessert._

 

_Let me help,_ she offers immediately, already trying to push herself off her chair when he shakes his head.

 

_Nah, sit down. Ya gotta be tired._ She lingers for a moment with her palms pressed flat onto the table but then she sighs in defeat, sitting back down. As Daryl gets up, he gently nudges Dorothy off his lap. She grumbles and stretches but quickly follows him into the kitchen. Carefully, he sits the dishes down in the sink, taking in the sight of the absolute mess in front of him. Almost absentmindedly and distracted by the bliss of Carol's company and warm food, he begins to turn on the hot water.

 

Soft footsteps behind him prove that Carol is too restless to sit still and wait for him for even two full minutes. He smirk, having already expected her to follow him.

 

_Daryl?_ Her voice is soft and quiet before she leans into him, her head resting against his shoulder, slender arms wrapped around him from behind. _Thank you. For everything._ This time, her voice almost breaks and he is frozen in place, overwhelmed by the gratitude that she just offered him. Her hands clasps around his stomach, and he can see the white of her knuckles pushing through when he glimpses down. _I wish-_ She falls silent, clearly struggling to speak her mind and he takes her hand instead, lifts it up to kiss the warmth of her palm.

 

_I know._

 

* * *

 

Everything is too hot, and he feels like he is suffocating. Her lips trail maddening kisses down his throat, the weight of her breasts warm in his clammy hands. The hard peaks of her nipples strain against her blouse and he can't help but drag his thumb over them, feeling her shiver against him. _Daryl!_ she gasps, the sound of his name on her lips sending a jolt of electricity through him. A groan tears from his throat and without a hint of shyness he presses his erection against her leg, clutching her closer to him as best as he can. The angle of their bodies is awkward on the couch but it's how they progressed from a chaste kiss to this.

 

_We- Shit._ She is weakly bucking up into him as best as she can. Just barely, but the friction is too much for him to take. It's frustrating knowing that she probably doesn't get much out of it and so he drags his thumbs over her nipples again, but when she sucks on his pulse point, his vision goes black and he freezes. _Carol. Stop._

 

She only mewls, running her hands down his back, then back up to his shoulders, ruffling the cotton of his shirt. When he he pulls away, panting, she looks up at him with flushed cheeks. _I know. I should-_ Her eyes are dark and he can actually see her now unlike the night they shared in her bedroom. The sight he's granted is stunning, breathtaking, beautiful and he can't help but drink her in. _I should go,_ she breathes, leaning up to kiss him.

 

Tentatively, she runs her tongue along the seam of his lips, his moan melding into the kiss that follows. _I should go,_ she repeats on a gasp. He nods, finally moving his hands from her breasts but instantly missing the warmth of her. Expecting her to sit up, he is surprised when she lingers. _But I don't want to,_ she breathes, bucking up into him once more.

 

His breath hitches, his resolve beginning to crumble. _Want'ya ta stay, too,_ he confesses with a husky voice, his arms trembling where he holds himself up against her. _But..._ Carol sighs softly, cupping his cheek in her hand. _Can't._

 

They're not ready, neither of them. Not for this next step. He wants her though, badly, more than he has ever wanted anyone in his life. Before, he never really cared about sex. It was a way to scratch an itch, never something that meant anything. It never even felt good after. Only for one brief, blissful moment before the shame and disgust hit him like a tidal wave. But now with Carol warm and plaint and so responsive, it's hard not to think about it. Not to crave it.

 

Carol breathes a quiet _yes_ in agreement and then he sits back, feeling cold everywhere her body touched his before. He helps her into an upright position, watching as she smooths out her now wrinkled blouse. _I know,_ she sighs, seemingly caught between longing and fear as much as he is. Her eyes flicker down for a moment and he doesn't miss the way her throat bops when she swallows. _You going to be okay?_ Awkwardly, she waves at his groin area and he clears his throat, suddenly desperate to cover the outline of his erection against his jeans. But he stops himself from grabbing the next pillow, knowing that would only make this more even more awkward.

 

_Yeah._ He swallows, wondering if she feels the same way. _You?_

 

The half smile she gives him is a riddle. _I guess._

 

He helps her up when she stands, always unsteady on her feet these days. Slowly, they head towards the door, a heavy feeling of goodbye in his heart. Carol struggles a little getting into her boots and he steadies her, smirking when she rolls her eyes in annoyance. Dorothy is straying around their feet the entire time, never too far away.

 

_Thank you for dinner, Daryl,_ Carol says softly as she slips into the coat he's holding out for her. After zipping it up, she looks down between them, the moment stretching on. Suddenly, Daryl feels like they're two teenagers on a first date that went too far, and it's proof that they are still kind of stuck in a weird and undefined place. Even after everything, he still isn't sure what they are. What she wants them to be.

 

_Be careful out there,_ he warns to break the silence, pointing out the window to the remaining, thick layer of snow. _Text me when you're home._

 

Carol's soft laugh lights up the room. _I live next door._

 

A blush tints his cheeks and he tries to hide it with a shrug. _'s cold._ Her smile only widens and she leans into him, her hands coming up to his arms. His own move instinctively to cup her face, drawing his thumbs tenderly over her cheekbones. He'll never cease to be amazed by the softness of her skin. The mild warmth. The sweet smell.

 

_I will,_ she promises, pressing a kiss to his lips. It's much much softer now than before and she makes sure to pull away quickly. It's a mercy, he thinks, still hard and distracted by the dampness and taste of her on his parted lips. _Good night._

 

_Good night._ His voice is too deep, hoarse. Carol steps away, leaning down a little to pet the cat's thick, gray fur.

 

_Good night, Dorothy._

 

 

He lets Carol out of the door quickly after that, watching her through the window as she slowly makes her way across the snowy lawns in front of her their houses, eventually disappearing through her front door. He doesn't turn away until the light is switched on. What he finds when he looks down are two big, gray, judging eyes staring right into his soul.

 

_What'ya lookin' at?_ he asks, earning himself another curious head tilt and a meow before the cat stubbornly walks away. He shakes his head, hearing the rumble of his vibrating phone on the table. When he picks it up, it only says _home_ with a pink heart behind it, and he sends her another one back, feeling a little silly.

 

The house feels more empty without her here than it did in the four years he has spent here alone.

 

Desperate to distract himself, Daryl heads into the kitchen, attempting to clear up the mess he left behind. But neither scrubbing dishes nor putting leftovers away can mute the thoughts he has about her, his mind struggling the focus. All he can think about is her. The sweet taste of her, the softness of her skin. Memories of their night together flood his brain and eventually he surrenders with a muttered curse.

 

He's still half hard by the time he slips into the shower, the hot water raining down on him feeling heavenly.

 

It doesn't take long after he curls a hand around himself, stroking and tugging in a quick, hurried rhythm because this can't - will never again - feel as good as Carol's hand had felt. With his eyes closed and one hand braced against the tiles, he falls apart, hips thrusting weakly into his own grasp.

 

After, when he slips into bed, he feels spent and tired. The cat is already curled up there like it was put there for her specifically. The first few nights she jumped up there he tried to nudge her out. But every time he woke in the morning, she'd be back, curled up by his feet. He surrendered then, eyeing her little paws now that are spread out as he switches off the light.

 

In the darkness, the bed feels cold, and what he misses the most is the feeling of Carol by his side.

 


	21. the calm before

He underestimated the weather warning that's been out for two days. The blizzard they'd announced hadn't seemed far fetched with all the snow and the icy temperatures. But he hadn't really believed it. But as he looks out his window, Daryl has to admit they were right.

 

It's been snowing without pause since last night, and now it's picking up even more. Faintly, he can hear the guy on the radio warning about upcoming strong wind and even heavier snowfall, advising people not to leave their homes unless absolutely necessary. Schools are closed, and Dale had called earlier this morning, telling him to stay home, too.

 

The last time there was a blizzard of this magnitude, Daryl was still a kid. He still remembers it because he had to stay home for two days instead of going to school – and those two days had been some of the worst of his life. The bigger scars on his back date back to that storm, and he feels his shoulders tensing at the memory.

 

The thick layer of snow that's been covering the yards for weeks now swirls in the harsh wind, and the trees across the street sway dangerously – he can hardly make out the shape of them anymore through the veil of snow.

 

A quiet, terrified little sound carries over from the coffee table, and Daryl turns to see Dorothy's small head peaking out from underneath. With a sigh, he walks over there, sitting down with crossed legs, leaning his back against the couch.

 

_'s all right._ Slowly, he reaches his hand out to run his fingertips across her head and behind her ears. Her gray eyes close in slow motion, her head tilting into his touch. _Ain't nothin' gonna happen to ya. Y'ain't gotta be out there no more._ One small paw comes out from under the table, resting on his forearm to hold on to him.

 

As he sits there, reassuring _his cat_ that everything's going to be fine, Daryl's thoughts begin to wander. More and more he worries about Carol, all alone in her houses. He hasn't seen her since their dinner three days ago, work keeping him too busy with everybody crashing their damn cars on the icy roads.

 

He feels restless, his legs prickling with the need to get up and head over there to check on her.

 

Outside, the wind howls angrily, the house moaning around him. It's no wonder the cat is afraid, he wonders, watching the little one burrowing into his touch – still hiding securely under the coffee table. Eventually, though, he can't stand it anymore. With one last ruffle of Dorothy's fur, he rises back to his feet. On the way to the door, he turns off the radio, static mingling into the news report.

 

_Gonna be back, don't worry,_ he promises Dorothy, who is watching him curiously from her little sanctuary. She has food and water in her bowl and the house is sturdy. She'll be fine, he tells himself as he slips into the worn leather of his boots.

 

He dreads having to stomp through the thick snow, but there's no way around it. If he calls her, she'll just tell him she's fine – whether or not that's true. He needs to be sure.

 

With a sigh, he zips up his jacket, pulling open the front door. Instantly, he's met by a gust of icy wind that nearly sends him tumbling backwards. It feels like tiny prickles of ice that sink into the skin of his cheeks, and he has to push through it to even take a single step forward.

 

With all of his might, he pulls the front door shut behind him.

 

* * *

 

He has to ring twice before Carol finally opens the door, the wind howling mercilessly around him. His clothes are already soaked through, his cheeks raw, eyes narrowed to shield them from the wind, and his stiff fingers are buried deep in his pockets.

 

The moment Carol pulls the door open, she shudders, taking an instinctual step back from the storm that he brought right into her house. _Are you insane? What are you doing here?_ She has to raise her voice for him to even hear her over the wind, eyeing him up and down. His mere presence here seems to shock her.

 

_Wanted ta see if y'all right,_ he croaks back. His sore throat hasn't gotten all that much better over the last few days, and the loud speaking doesn't help one bit. He doesn't remember the last time he felt this cold, the wind buckling his knees right where he stands on her front porch.

 

_Daryl, you shouldn't be out here._ Carol sounds a lot like she's scolding him for being here, but she still takes a step back, arms wrapped around her chest, to let him in. _Come in._

 

He doesn't have to be asked twice. On numb feet, he rushes inside, and Carol quickly shuts the door behind them, struggling just as much as he had to make it budge against the wind.

 

_Jesus!_ he exclaims, shaking the snow off his head, and rubbing his palms together to warm his fingers. _Hasn't been this bad since I was a kid._

 

Carol only shakes her head, her face set in stone. Her usually soft features seem sharp, and it's an unusual sight that makes him feel uncomfortable. _You're so stupid. You could've hurt yourself._

 

He doesn't quite understand the tone of her voice, a mix between genuine concern and something like annoyance that he's not used to from her. He's all too used to it from other people, though. _Wind's really pickin' up, just wanted ta-_ Suddenly, he feels silly for rushing over, but Carol interrupts his thoughts and words with a sigh, not making his predicament much better.

 

_I know._ She takes him in for a moment, head to toes. _You should get out of those clothes. I'll make you some tea._

 

_'kay,_ he mutters, but she's already heading towards the kitchen, taking even slower steps than usual. _You good?_

 

He kicks off his wet boots, knowing he'll have to place them by the fire to get them dry. _I'm fine,_ she replies. He's not really convinced but he won't push for a different answer right now, peeling off his dripping jacket with stiff fingers instead. _Now Dorothy's all by herself?_

 

_She's a cat, she'll be fine._ Even his shirt is soaked and so he peels it off, grateful for the t-shirt underneath that's just a little damp. Never taking his eyes off Carol, he tosses the shirt onto a nearby chair for now, leaning down to take off his socks. His toes feel like they've turned blue already.

 

Carol fills water into the kettle, the sound of the running water combined with the wind making it hard to really understand her. _She must be scared. You should have stayed with her._

 

For the first time in a while, Daryl feels out of place here. Like a fool. Standing here in her living room with bare feet and wet pants, dripping hair, clearly, and for the first time, unwelcome.

 

* * *

 

The mood between them is tense after that. Neither says much as they sit to drink their tea, his clothes drying in front of the crackling fire.

 

Outside, the afternoon sky is turning darker by the second, the wind rattling the house around them. Snow and ice hit the roof and walls like hail and without mercy.

 

Carol has walked over to the window a little while ago, pushing the curtain aside to catch a glimpse of the blizzard. This just keeps getting worse instead of better. She sounds worried, more than she should be. But there's also a little disappointed hidden behind her words which he can't place.

 

_Yeah, 's pretty bad._ He takes the last sip of his tea, watching Carol as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. _You okay?_

 

She sighs in exasperation, turning around to face him with angry, red cheeks. _I'm fine, will you stop asking me that?_ It comes out uncharacteristically harsh and he flinches instinctively, but so does she, looking down at the floor. He's pretty sure she can't even see her socked feet under the swell of her stomach, but that is a soft thought for which he has no room now. _I just_ \- She sounds softer now, the words sounding like a wrecked apology, but the wound she just left still throbs. _Just don't like storms._

 

He knows her well enough to tell it's not a lie but it's also not the whole truth. Even as he takes her in curiously, he can't grasp to understand what changed between them so suddenly.

 

Two days ago everything was fine, and now there's a distance between them he can't breach. _Me, neither._ It's true, he's always hated storms. They made him feel locked in, were loud and unpredictable. Reminded him of his old man. _'s gonna be fine, though. This place's seen worse._ The house is even more sturdy than his, well built despite its age. Even though it creaks and moans he knows it'll survive this storm.

 

It's _them_ he's suddenly worried about.

 

Carol smiles weakly. _I hope so._

 

Slowly, she walks back over to the kitchen, setting her empty mug down by the sink.

 

In that moment, Daryl gathers what little is left of his courage and he decides that he finally needs to bring something up that's been nagging him for so long. With everything crumbling, now might be his last chance.

 

_So, I-_ His mouth and throat turn dry and he takes another sip of his tea, only the very bottom of it left. His throat feels scratchy as he swallows. _There's something I wanted to... Something we gotta talk about, I guess._

 

It feels like he just threw himself about a mile out of his comfort zone, but to hell with it. It's now or never, the magnitude of the moment nearly crushing him.

 

Carol remains turned away from him, standing stiff as a board in front of the sink. _Hmm?_

 

Out of sheer habit, he draws his thumbnail between his teeth, the mild sting briefly chasing away deeper aches. Taking in a deep breath, all his fears and insecurities come bubbling to the surface, having a blast inside himself. _'s about Sophia._ He doesn't know how to say any of this without sounding like a selfish bastard. That he wants to know what they are, what they will be after her baby is here. That he feels like their time is running out and he's afraid of losing her. More than he's ever been afraid of losing anything in his life. _I just keep wonderin' how... Well, after-_

 

_Daryl, can we talk about this some other time, please?_ Carol's interruption startles him, the words tumbling from her mouth on one shaky exhale. It's not hard to figure out he must've struck a nerve, that maybe this is the reason she's pulling away now, out of mercy because once her baby is here they won't have a future, there won't be a place for him in her life. Just like he expected.

 

But she's the one good thing in _his_ life and he's not quite ready to give up on this so easily. Not without a fight. He almost can't contain the need to prove to her that he can be whatever she needs him to be, anything at all. _Think we got time now._ He knows he sounds pathetic and pleading, and his chest feels too tight.

 

Carol sighs deeply, making him feel like a nuisance. _I know. But I really don't wa- shit!_ She hisses the curse and suddenly grips the counter top hard, her shoulder curving forward and he's on his feet not a second later, his heart pounding.

 

_Carol?_ She hisses in pain and worry shoots through his body, almost like a phantom ache of whatever it is she's feeling. He has crossed the room in a second, his hand coming up to rest against her lower back. The other finds one of the hands she has curled around the edge of the counter, matching his fingers to hers. _Hey, what's wrong?_

 

Her eyes are squeezed shut and she's sucking in a deep breath, struggling with the simple act. _Shit._ Then, slowly, she relaxes, and he can feel her grasp on the counter easing. Ever so slowly, her eyes open again. _I'm having contractions._

 

_You're having wha- oh._ Realization dawns on him and in that very second terror spreads through him. A conflicting feeling of not quite believing this is happening, being out of his mind worried about her and at the same time the dread of knowing that their time is up. Quicker than he thought, without warning. _Ya kiddin', right?_

 

Carol huffs a humorless laugh, turning to face him. _I wish I was._ For a moment, she does nothing but take calming breaths. _They started last night._

 

_Last night?_ He's more than a little surprised by her admission, not understanding at all how she's not completely freaking out right now. How has she been so calm the entire time? Then again, he wonders, she'd been acting strange ever since he shied up. It makes a little more sense now. _The fuck are you still doin' here? Why didn't ya call? I'd have taken ya to the hospital._ The words jumble from his mouth in a panic and his hand skims down her arm, over her stomach, to her shoulder, her face. Making sure she's okay even though he knows there's nothing he can do to help.

 

She shakes her head slightly. _For what? It's my first baby, Daryl. It's going to take forever, they'd have just send me back home._ She says it all matter-of-factly and even though he did read up a bit on childbirth (just to not sound completely uneducated) he can't say he's an expert. Maybe she's right, but it doesn't matter because she's having this baby now. Everything he wanted to say would be in vain now. The _before_ has passed and they are stuck on their way into the _after_.

 

_Well, we're going there now,_ he announces, already turning back around. He's ready to force his way through the storm to his truck and park it right in front of her porch somehow. Hell, he'd carry her down the slippery steps. But then Carol's hand curls around his arm from behind, softly but determinedly holding him back.

 

_In this weather?_ She's pointing out the window, nothing to be seen through the white mess, the houses outside impossible to make out by now. _No._

 

He'll go slow, as slow as possible and she did say they have time so whatever. It doesn't matter if it takes them an hour to get to the hospital. Not if she's right about this. _Ya wanna have the kid here?_ he asks, suddenly out of breath, waving his hand around her living room. Because it seems to him like she does, like she's not even a little worried.

 

Carol offers him a weak smile, shaking her head. _I'm not having the baby here, Daryl. The contractions are really far apart._ He thinks he recalls that means she really does have some time left, but he can't be sure, and even if she has time what if something goes wrong? He won't let her be in danger or unnecessary pain. T _he storm's going to ease up before we have to go. They might not even be proper contractions._

 

_There's false ones?_

 

_Yes,_ she breathes, nodding.  _Just..._ Her hand slips down his arm to find his, fingers entwining easily like a familiar dance. On wobbly knees, she takes a step towards him, the swell of her stomach pressing into his.  _I don't want you to drive out there right now, okay?_

 

Suddenly she's all soft and tender again, the way he knows her. He swallows, his emotions a mess, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand. When he speaks again, he keeps his voice low. _Ya sure we got enough time?_

 

_I'm sure._

 

A second later, the lights go off, bathing them in gray, bleak darkness.

 


	22. the storm

She was wrong, plain and simple. Completely and utterly wrong.

 

Her contractions have gotten much worse over the last hour or so, and much more frequent than they were before. She's currently standing behind the couch, bend over a little, gripping the back of it with the white of her knuckles pushing through. Her eyes are squeezed shut tight and she looks absolutely miserable.

 

_You were wrong._ He's looking outside where the storm still rages furiously. The room around them is dark except for the candles they lit and the fire he just stoked to keep it burning. It's the only source of warmth with the power still out.

 

Carol groans, her voice pressed and strained. _I know._

 

_The fuck are we gonna do?_ he asks with a raised voice, struggling to keep his damn breathing calm. Her phone has no service and he forgot his own at home in his rush to get to her. There's no way to reach anyone with the power out and landline down and they are stuck here. Stuck with a baby that's in much more of a hurry than Carol anticipated.

 

_I don't know!_ She's yelling right back at him now, her body tensing with the next contraction. _Fuck!_

 

In a heartbeat he's by her side, steadying her back with a trembling hand. She instantly leans into him, positively clings to him with one hand while the other remains grounded to the couch. He feels terrible about losing his composure but he's terrified and out of his depth here.

 

_Hey, hey. Breathe, all right?_ he says with a much calmer voice, running his hand up and down her back. He's got no idea if that's helping at all but she's not protesting. That's as good as it's going to get. _'s gonna be okay._

 

Eventually, her breathing slows a little and the whimpers stop. She leans further back until her head rests against his chest where his heart thunders. _Didn't mean to shout at ya,_ he apologizes bashfully.

 

She sighs, her body warm against his. _I know. I'm- I'm sorry I was so mean to you before._ He wants to tell her that there's no need to apologize but he lets her talk, knowing that interrupting her would probably just irritate her more. Softly, he presses a kiss to the crown of her head to silently let her know it's okay. _It's just... I didn't want you here._

 

The words sting more than he wants to admit and he can't hold in his surprised exhale. _Oh._

 

Carol quickly tries retracting what she said. _No, not- I did._ Slowly, she turns around on unsteady legs, still holding on to him. _But I didn't._

 

He's more than a little confused and so is she, apparently, looking at his chest with her tear glistening eyes and flushed face. _I've been meaning to ask you, you know? To be there. I was... I was scared to do it alone._

 

Her confession rattles him to the core. The thought that she trusts him enough to want him by her side makes his heart skip a beat. At the same time, she never mentioned that fear before and he feels bad knowing she carried it with her all this time in silence. _But... I didn't want you to have to see any of this and when you showed up I was so mad because I never got to ask._

 

He assumes it's the blood and all that she's talking about. With a weak, one-sided smile, he reaches up to cup her flaming cheek. _I ain't squeamish, ya know?_ Blood is the least of his worries right now. He's much more afraid of her suffering and not being to help as he watches. The very real possibility of something going wrong is a dull, throbbing ache he can't shake.

 

_Oh, Daryl._ She smiles without any humor, thin-lipped and strained, shaking her head softly. _You have no ide-_ The word fades into a pained wail and she tumbles forward into him. He catches her before they both fall to the ground, her forehead pressing into his breastbone as the contraction wrecks her.

 

_Breathe,_ he reminds her, running his hand up and down her back again, feeling her tense in his arms.

 

_I know!_ she shouts, the sound muffled by his chest and he doesn't even want to imagine what this must be like for her

 

He knows pain better than most, but this seems different. He's never known pain that lead to something good.

 

* * *

 

Her piercing scream still rings in his ears, her nails having left crescent indentations on his arm that burn. She's calming down now, though, sitting on the couch with her head down.

 

_I'm gonna go get Lori._ That is his last resort, and he's already pushing himself off the couch to head across the street, but Carol won't let him.

 

_No!_ she gasps, a shaking hand reaching out to hold on to him. Even now, she's still panting and looking at him pleadingly.

 

_She had a kid, she's gonna know what to do._

 

_You can't go out there, you'll hurt yourself._ She sounds absolutely wretched now, all of her earlier calm vanished somewhere along the road. The contractions just keep coming despite what she said, and he can feel their time running out. Doesn't need to be a damn doctor to know that. _It's too dangerous,_ Carol tries again, clutching his arm too tightly.

 

He doesn't like the idea of leaving her alone, either, even for just a minute. But she seems genuinely terrified, tears finally spilling over and he quickly sits back down. _Hell, Carol._ As gently as he can, he wipes the tears away, wishing his hands weren't so damn calloused. She deserves something soft. But she doesn't complain, resting her head against his shoulder and sucking in deep breaths.

 

_Try the phone again,_ she begs with just a hoarse whisper. Fearing the worst, Daryl reaches over to grab her phone from the coffee table. He doesn't like the sight one bit - a picture of him greets him when he unlocks the screen, half asleep with Dorothy curled up on his chest, her furry butt right in his face. But today, that isn't what really bothers him.

 

_Still no service._

 

She whimpers in response, reminding him that no matter how afraid he might be, it's a million times worse for her. Warm tears soak through his shirt, and he's glad he put some of his dry clothes back on. The storm outside is not showing any signs of slowing down, whipping snow against the houses, trees and buried cars. _Damn it._

 

_What are we gonna do?_

 

Her delicate hands curl into the fabric of his shirt and he is pretty sure there's another contraction coming soon. _Stop asking me that._ She sounds harsh again but he'll forgive her easily. She's scared, irritated and in pain, and even when she snaps at him it never lasts long. _I don't- This isn't-_

 

_'s all right._ He runs his fingertips through her hair, down her scalp, massaging the knots in the back of her neck. The whole time, he hopes to make her feel a little more comfortable. There's so little he can do except trying to reassure her that they're not stuck neck-deep in a pile 'o shit. _Maybe the phone's gonna start working again soon._

 

_I don't think-_ She sucks in a sharp breath, clutching him to the point of pain - pain he's more than willing to endure. _Daryl, I don't think we have enough time for that._

 

Panic blazes through him like wildfire. _Ya serious?_ There's no time for him to say anything else before Carol groans in pain, burrowing into him with all her might. Slowly, mindfully, he breathes for her, hoping she'll adapt to the pattern he's showing her. His hand smooths down her spine until she calms down, whimpering and stuttering through her labored breaths.

 

_Fuck. Carol, ya gotta tell me what to do here._ She leans back weakly, her pretty blue eyes rimmed red, her entire body rigid with pain. Not able to hide his own tremor, he cups her cheek, feeling more useless than ever before. _Don't know how to help._

 

* * *

 

_This isn't how I wanted this to go,_ Carol groans, clutching the blanket beneath her.

 

They had to make do with what little means they have and Daryl scrambled to get everything together that she breathlessly told him to. He dragged down blankets and towels and put big trash bags in between at her plea. Hell, he even has water in a pot heating over the fireplace. It all feels medieval and pathetic when she deserves so much more.

 

_Doubt anyone wants ta have their kid in a fuckin' blizzard._ He tries hard to sound calm. The last thing he wants is to panic and scare her even more. But that's not exactly easy considering he's currently kneeling between Carol's legs and she's naked from the waist down with a towel draped over her. That had been entirely his idea after she'd shivered like a leaf. And for now, it provides her with at least a hint of privacy.

 

She leans up on her elbows although she has plenty of pillows to hold her up, looking at him with a mixture of terror and frustration. _No, not that. You._ He feels unfairly accused for a moment. He ain't a midwife after all and never popped out a kid himself, so considering that and the fact he hasn't run off into the storm yet, he's doing pretty well.

 

But Carol is quick to explain herself, wiping sweat off her brow. _I didn't want you to- I really like you._ Her voice goes very quiet and her words linger in the silence. There's a hint of shyness in the way she doesn't meet his gaze. _I like you a lot. And I think I could even-_

 

Every single one of her words mess with his brain and this isn't at all how he imagined this conversation would ever go - not even in those rare daydreams when he allowed himself to think she might one day utter those words. A huff of frustration breaks the spell. _But now you're stuck down there and we're never ever going to- fuck!_ Her blunt choice of words confuses him for a second before she clutches the sheets again until her knuckles turn white, wailing in pain.

 

_Hey, s' all right._ He's not sure she can even hear him over her own voice and the rumble of the storm. Still, he repeats the words, runs his hands up and down her bare calves with a decent amount of pressure since that seemed to help relax her earlier.

 

The room is so dark with only the fire and candles shedding some light, enough to show the sweat glistening on her skin, eyes screwed shut. _Ya doin' great._

 

She huffs like it's a joke but he means it, knew already how strong she is and she's only proving that right now. After what feels like a lifetime, she calms down, but the calm periods are mercilessly short by now, and he decides to make the most of what little time they have before the next contraction, picking up their conversation. _So, about the fucking-_ He blushes at his own weak attempt at joking, referring to her unfortunately placed curse earlier.

 

_Shut up!_ She doesn't sound very genuine, something like a strangled laugh hiding behind the hissed words, and he clears his throat to buy himself a second to compose himself.

 

Only now does he realize he's still drawing his thumb in circles just above her socked ankles. _Wasn't even thinkin' 'bout that 'til ya brought it up._

 

He really didn't. The only reason he was uncomfortable by her nakedness is because there's a damn kid about to come out of _there_ and that's something he never thought he'd see. His heart beats furiously in his chest with the next words lingering on his tongue. _I like ya, too. A lot._

 

Her cheeks were already flushed, but he thinks they turn another shade of pink when Carol smiles softly at his muttered words.

 

_This ain't gonna change that,_ he reassures her, needing her to understand that. No matter what she wants them to be after this, which he still doesn't know. It's quickly becoming his greatest regret that he didn't bring it up until today. Until it was too late.

 

But maybe, just maybe, it doesn't matter, after all.

 

Her smile fades quickly then, tearing his thoughts back into the here and now. She sucks in a deep breath. _Daryl?_

 

_Yeah?_

 

He barely has time to give his short answer before she chokes back a cry and her body jolts forward. _I think I need to push._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to leave you guys waiting for too long and I had some downtime at work, so this happened a bit sooner than I thought. But I probably won't finish the next chapter until next week.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry that these chapters are much shorter compared to the others. But I didn't want to have one massive birth chapter, so I split them up.


	23. aftermath

She finally stopped crying. As small as she is, Sophia surely knows how to scream her lungs out. She'd proved that right after she was born, when she was squirming in his arms. Small arms and legs covered in blood and goo, slippery, soft and warm until he'd wrapped her in a clean towel. The fluffiest one he could find in the pile on the couch.

 

But now, she's quiet.

 

Safely cradled in Carol's arms, she's content and warm and drinking milk like she was born just for this. Daryl can't help but take in the sight of them, mother and daughter. It's mesmerizing, the beauty of the moment stealing his breath.

 

Sweat is still drying on his skin and his heart still beats a million miles per hour. The adrenaline that kept him going still fizzles in his veins, small aftershocks that keep him from succumbing to exhaustion and relief alike.

 

In the end, it had all happened so much faster than either of them anticipated. But Carol had pushed through, fighting through the pain and exhaustion until her little girl was born. In those moments, he hadn't thought about what he was doing, what he should be doing. All he'd been able to focus on was her.

 

The tight grasp of her hand around his, the tears trailing down her flushed cheeks. The screams that tore through him like knives until they were finally replaced by a different scream, high pitched and so very welcome.

 

_She's hungry,_ he chuckles, smiling at the sight of the little baby suckling away. Carol smiles in return, softer and almost dream-like. She looks so tired, and he wishes he could carry at least part of the load for her. All he can do is wipe some blood from the inside of her thigh and placing a new, clean towel beneath her. It feels like nothing, but while they wait for the ambulance to arrive, there's not much else he can do.

 

With the storm finally settling, Daryl had managed to call 911 just after Sophia was born. The connection hadn't been the best, but good enough for him to nearly lose his temper when the woman on the other line told him it could take up to forty-five minutes for the ambulance to arrive. He'd been about to release all his worries and frustration on the poor woman, but a simple touch of Carol's hand on his arm had soothed the anger away. _We'll be fine,_ she'd mouthed, and he was left with no choice but to believe her. Which was difficult considering she'd also been sure they'd have enough time to wait out the storm.

 

There wasn't much the woman could do to help from a distance, but she tried. Telling him what to do when enough adrenaline had faded for him to realize that he was completely clueless. With a kind and calm voice she'd told him to keep Carol and the baby warm, not to cut the umbilical cord, to make sure Carol delivered the placenta.

 

Now that it's over, Daryl feels like he stands on battle field, the dust settling around them. All in all, it was the most disturbing thing he's ever witnessed. Terrifying in how visceral it was, but also marvelous in the strength he saw. The love that poured from Carol the moment he handed her the bundle that held her daughter.

 

Every time his gaze lingers on the two of them, all the stress he still feels fades for a few moments. It's replaced by a contentment he's never felt quite this consuming before. He drinks it all in, the tired elation in Carol's eyes, the incredibly delicate way her fingertips trail over a tiny nose and a head full of hair.

 

Never once in his life has he thought of babies as cute or cared much about them. There was never a reason or a real opportunity. And if he's being completely honest, Sophia still looks a little bit like an alien - the way she'd felt like kicking and squirming in her momma's belly. She's squishy and bloody but in spite of all that, she's still her own kind of beautiful. Every time he looks at her, something stings inside his chest that he can't explain, almost like he ran out of room for his swelling heart.

 

But he never allows himself to look at them for long. Maybe it's a ridiculous thought, but he feels like an intruder to this intimate moment, and so he busies himself by trying to clean up the mess around them. But even as he reaches for another fresh towel, his fingers still tremble.

 

_Daryl?_ Carol's voice is hoarse now from her screams, and he turns around instantly at the sound of his name. Her hand, warm and trembling as much as his own, reaches out for his. He takes it without pause, entwining their fingers and allowing her to gently tug until he's sitting by his side. The couch pressing into his back offers some comfort and he releases a long breath. _Thank you._

 

There is nothing she should feel the need to thank him for. _Ain't like it was supposed ta be,_ he mutters, still mourning the comfort and medical care she should have had instead of just him and a few towels. But Carol just leans her head against his shoulder with a sigh that carries no hint of frustration.

 

His eyes are drawn down to the baby she holds, latched onto her breast with her big round eyes closed. Suddenly, it fills him with a sense of melancholy. This isn't _his_ moment and while he's here, he's not truly a part of it. But now, in this moment of absolute calm, he realizes with sharp clarity how much he wishes that he was. That this moment was _theirs_ to cherish.

 

Maybe he tenses against her, or maybe he's just an open book to her. One way or the other, Carol seems to sense the shift in his mood and reaches up to cup his cheek. With a soft nudge, she turns his head to face her, and he can deny her nothing. _I'm glad you're here. Really,_ she promises with the slightest hint of a smile. _Even if this isn't how I planned for it to be. I couldn't have done it without you._

 

There's no truth to that but he still blushes furiously at the idea of being that much of a support to her, and he can't help but lean into her touch. _Yeah, ya would've. Kicked some serious ass._ He presses a kiss to the crown of her head where her auburn hair has turned curly and frizzy, but it's still so soft to the touch. What he really wants is to kiss her lips, but he can't let himself push that far. Instead, he lingers, breathes her in. Cherishes this moment because he doesn't know if he'll be given another chance to feel her this close to him.

 

Carol laughs at what he said, and for one blissful moment, that sweet sound allows him to imagine that this is what he craves for it to be. _Their_ moment, _their_ happiness.

 

As her laughter fades, Carol leans back against him, shifting the baby in her arms just slightly. _You wanted to talk,_ she says quietly. _Earlier. You said you wanted to talk about what happens after she's here._

 

The question has never been as important as it is now, but he didn't actually expect Carol to bring it up. To even recall that moment after everything that just happened. His heart still pounds in his chest, the pace only increasing now that all the _what ifs_ are wandering through his mind. His fingers itch to rest on top of Carol's where she is cradling her daughter's head if only to keep the fantasy alive for a moment longer that he could be a part of this. _Ain't gotta talk about that now,_ he reassures her, not wanting her to strain herself more than necessary. And a selfish part of him doesn't want to risk shattering this perfect illusion. Not yet.

 

Carol looks up at his hushed words and he meets her gaze. She looks even more tired than before and it takes him a moment to realize she's also much paler. Pale in a sickly way that bothers him, unlike the usual milky softness of her skin. _It was important to you._ Her voice is almost a whisper now, and slowly more and more of her weight comes to rest against him. Suddenly, it feels like he's holding her upright when they'd been embracing before.

 

He's torn between the part of him that already mourns what they might have been and the part that so badly wants to take her up on her offer and talk about this now. More than ever before he needs to know if there's a future for them, if she can find a place for him in her happiness. She's the reason for all _his_ happiness, but he'll gladly give that up if there's no room for him anymore. If their time has run out, he won't try to make her stay. Won't force himself into her life. But she's too exhausted now, too consumed by the moment to make rational decisions.

 

_Ya gotta rest._ He pulls away from her slowly, making sure to steady her when she sways a little. She sighs at the loss, eyes fluttering a little as she clings to what little balance he still offers. _We can talk later._ Careful not to jostle her and Sophia too much, he moves back down towards her feet. It feels less awkward to kneel between her legs now. The moment for embarrassment has come and gone, wiped away the moment he had to pull out her baby with his own hands.

 

_We- There's time...,_ Carol breathes, and he takes in the sight of her with worry creasing his brows. _We have time._ Her eyes are unfocused and panic instantly shoots through him. Her words make little sense and sound too hazy compared to how she sounded before. When he looks back down, the fear that had jostled him hits him full force, damn near paralyzing him right there, kneeling on a blood-soaked towel with his hands touching warm, slick skin.

 

_Carol?_

 

She only hums in response, her head falling back against the couch in an uncontrolled motion. He notices the way she instinctively tightens her grip on Sophia, both arms wrapping around the bundle to keep her safe, her body realizing that something is wrong when her mind is already betraying her.

 

_Is there supposed ta be this much blood?_

 

Her eyes flicker open, and she does seem to understand what he's saying. But she doesn't respond for a good long while, simply trying to pull him back into focus. With trembling fingers, he reaches for another towel, shoves it down to join the other, suddenly and for the first time in a long time feeling sickened by the sight of blood.

 

_Daryl._ It's a broken whisper and he's by her side in an instant, his palm cupping her cheek and leaving a smear of blood behind. _Take her,_ she breathes, sweat pearling on her brows. _Don't- Can't hold... Take her._

 

All the peace, all the happiness he'd allowed himself to feel before crumbles into ash. Quickly, he reaches out, gently cradles Sophia in his arms. She's so light, so tiny, so fragile. A little foot falls out from the towel and he quickly tucks it back inside, watching with terror as Carol sags against the couch. Her eyes linger on her daughter, though, a weak hand reaching out to hold on to the towel.

 

_Carol,_ he croaks, wrapping his arm around her until she falls into his side. _'s gonna be all right. Ambulance 's gonna be here soon,_ he promises, kissing her forehead, her temple, smoothing his thumb in circles against her upper arm. It doesn't feel like enough, and even though she's still awake he can sense her fading.

 

The clock on the wall ticks too loudly, and the flames in the fireplace begin to grow small. Now more than before it feels like his time is running out, the last few grains falling down without mercy.

 

Instead of replying, Carol hums softly, her hand eventually falling limply down between them. _You have- She needs.... Burp her,_ she whispers, the words barely audible. She's slipping through his fingers, and he grasps her tighter, holds the baby a little higher so she can see her.

 

_Carol, ya gotta stay awake. Just a little longer. She needs ya._ He didn't even notice the tears brimming in his eyes until they spill over, trailing down his cheeks and dripping onto the blood stained towel. _I need ya,_ he breathes, so quietly that she probably didn't hear it. It's what gives him the courage to say the next words, the ones that he never dares to weigh on his tongue before. _I love ya._

 

She doesn't even stir, but the words echo over and over in his head as Carol grows quiet and the minutes drag on into decades until finally, finally there's a knock on the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody stay calm, please! Nobody freak out! Okay? Don't hate me.
> 
> I'm also 'sorry' I skipped the actual birth. But I figured that not a lot of people actually want to read that, and I also didn't really want to write that. So, you all know how that works. Fill in the blanks. Daryl didn't drop Sophia, all is well :)
> 
> Also, there are only three chapters left for this fic. I felt like I need to warn you about that because I know some of you were really excited about reading more about their time as a family - but that was never really the plan for this story :/ I do hope you'll enjoy the rest of the story, though *hugs*


	24. the family we could be

The hospital bed is about as far away from comfortable as it could possibly be, at least the way he's laying on the very edge of it. His boots lay abandoned on the floor, feet crossed at the ankles on top of the stiff blanket. His back is killing him, but he doesn't move an inch, afraid to startle Carol who is sound asleep and pressed into his side.

 

The room is almost eerily quiet except for the occasional humming and beeping of the machines next to the bed and Carol's even breathing. The blinds are closed, only allowing a few rays of sunlight to shine into the room, casting just enough light for him to see more than just silhouettes.

 

His hand is curled around Carol's, and with every breath he takes he circles his thumb over her pulse point, feeling the steady thrum of it under his skin. He knows the machines will tell should anything be wrong, but he needs the reassurance of feeling her blood pulsing through her veins at a steady rhythm.

 

Sophia is asleep in her little crib by the side of the bed, her tiny hands and fingers uncurled and her hair a fluffy mess now that she's all clean and dry. Looking at her, Daryl feels the same he did back at the house, the overwhelming tightness in his chest and the warmth that ignites in his veins, spreading evenly throughout his body.

 

After the ambulance arrived, they'd taken Carol and Sophia to the hospital. He'd followed them in his truck, having to go at a snail's pace over the snow-covered streets while his heart pounded at a million miles per hour. But in the end, it had all been fine. The doctor explained something to him about light hemorrhaging and going into shock but he'd barely registered a word after hearing that she'd be fine. They only wanted to keep her for a few days to make sure she's stable after the blood loss and he's grateful for that.

 

He needs to know they are both safe and healthy before they go back home.

 

Laying here in bed next to Carol is the first time he gets to take a breather since he rushed over to Carol's house yesterday and finally his fatigue is threatening to claim him. But even though his eyes are heavy, he wants to wait for Carol to wake up, wants to be there for her.

 

Thankfully, it doesn't take too much longer before she begins to stir beside him, groaning a little under her breath. Her eyes flutter open, sensitive to even the slightest bit of light. _Easy, easy,_ he murmurs quietly, mindful not to wake the baby. He watches as Carol finally opens her eyes and keeps them that way, and not a second later they widen as memories of what happened seem to wash over her like a tidal wave. _'s all right,_ he reassured her quickly, but he'd be a fool to believe his words alone could be enough right now.

 

Her eyes search as far as she can in her field of vision, one hand coming up to wave at the air, trembling from exhaustion. _Sophia,_ she gasps, and he has to rest a hand against her cheek to keep her from straining her neck.

 

_She's fine,_ he says quickly, softly brushing his thumb over her cheekbone. _Y'all right, both o' ya._

 

Carol calms down a little after that, sucking in a deep breath. _Where-_

 

_Over there, look._ He lifts his hand from her cheek to point at the crib, and Carol's eyes follow his movement, not yet as adjusted to the semi-darkness. _She's sleeping. 's all good, Carol._ She relaxes visibly into the mattress, sighing softly. Her eyes, however, remain fixed on the peacefully sleeping baby.

 

_Y'ain't gotta worry 'bout nothin'. Ya gonna be fine._ His words are just as quiet as before but his voice breaks a little. She turns to look at him, a slighty sleepy smile etched onto her face. _Doctor said lots o' stuff but point is ya gonna be fine and Sophia's healthy,_ he explains, sealing his words with a one-sided smile. He tries hard to keep the tears at bay, not wanting her to see what a mess he is right now, what a turmoil his thoughts are caught in. _She's perfect, Carol._

 

She nods softly, leaning into his touch when he cups her cheek again. Slowly, she turns her hand until her fingers are entwined with his. _Thank you,_ she whispers hoarsely, and all he can do is nod.

 

_Gonna go get a nurse, all right?_ He wants them to check on her, to make sure everything is really fine. It doesn't matter how many times they told him that, he needs them to prove it to him. Reluctantly, he pulls back a little to get out of her bed. But then he remembers something important and his cheeks burn a bright red instantly. He desperately hopes she can't see that in the scarce light.

 

_Something ya should know... Ehm..._ Clearing his throat, he doesn't miss the way Carol looks at him with a dazed expression, her head turned sideways on the pillow. _Kinda had ta tell people ya my girlfriend._ The word tastes foreign on his tongue and he's afraid she's gonna yell at him for making that presumption or worse throw him out. _Wouldn't lemme in otherwise,_ he adds quickly to explain himself. Although her being his girlfriend is number one on the short list of things he wants in life, he knows he took a large step without asking her by declaring them a couple. And now certainly isn't exactly the time to have a discussion about the state of their relationship. Carol is clearly drifting off to sleep again already, her eyes fluttering shut instead of widening in shock like he expected.

 

_An' all them nurses got that all wrong and been congratulatin' me an' shit._ Everyone who came into the room had fawned over the baby, telling him how lucky he was and wishing him all the best. The doctor actually shook his damn hand. _They think she's mine._ He feels like the world's biggest idiot right now. He knows he should have cleared up that confusion right away but he was afraid they would send him away and he needs to make sure they're both fine. How can he do that from a distance? _Didn't sign nothin', though, so y'ain't gotta freak or anythin'._ The words tumble from his mouth quickly and he stutters through them all. The grasp he still has on her hand is tightening as he waits for some kind of response.

 

Carol only hums after a second, absent-mindedly brushing her thumb over the back of his hand. The movement slows down considerably with each second that passes. _That's okay,_ she whispers so quietly he has to lean in closer to understand her, her eyes already closed. _I want to be your girlfriend._ The words startle him and send a thrill through him at the same time, but what she says next is what really takes his breath away. _And you can be her daddy if you... if you want-_ His eyes widen comically but then Carol stops talking. He leans in even closer, afraid that the sound of his pounding heart will wake half the hospital.

 

_Carol?_

 

She's asleep again, her hand still in his, now loose and relaxed. While her words repeat over and over in her mind, Daryl stares at her for a moment in disbelief. Wondering if what she said was genuine or a product of fatigue and shock. But he wants desperately for her to mean it, every single word.

 

His eyes stray to the baby shifting and making a bubbly little sound in her crib, and he's never been more sure of anything in his life than he is right now. He wants this, both of them, wants to be the man they both deserve.

 

Breaching the last few inches between them, he leans down and presses his lips to Carol's temple. The three words he'd uttered in despair before linger on his lips again, but he holds them back this time.

 

When he says them again, he wants her to hear them.

 

* * *

 

_Come in!_

 

Daryl pushes open the door to the office, throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder. All the guys are busy and nobody is paying any attention to him. Still, he feels watched as he steps into the office, shutting the door behind him. It always look like a different world in here, like the room doesn't belong to the grease and grime of the repair shop.

 

It's warm in here, smells of wood, the old, dark furniture and the heavy rug making it feel like a room in one of them old mansions. Dale is sitting behind the desk, looking at him kindly as Daryl lingers by the door. _Ya got a minute?_

 

Dale nods, looking so much older these days. The years have not been kind to him, and the loss of his wife nearly quenched what was left of his energy. _Of course._ He points to the cushioned chair in front of the desk, and drops the pen he's been holding. A mountain of paper work is piled up in front of him. _What's the matter?_

 

Daryl sits down with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, nervously chewing on his thumbnail for a second. Eventually though, he drops his greasy hands into his lap. _Wanted ta ask if..._ He hates very few things as much as asking people for anything. As a child, that was a surefire way to earn himself a beating and so he learned to rely on nobody but himself. He never let go of that habit when he got older but he has no other choice now. Deep down, he knows that the worst that can happen is Dale telling him no, and that's nothing compared to the punishments he received as a boy.

 

_Gonna need some time off,_ he says, figuring that getting straight to the point is the best way to go here. _I know it's on real short notice but my..._ He hesitates, still unsure about what to call Carol. He plays with a few words in his head until he decides to use the one that just makes the most sense. _My girlfriend just had a kid. Two days ago._ His face flushes crimson, and he clears his throat, fingers fidgeting in his lap.

 

The look of complete surprise on Dale's face is softened by his wide smile. _Daryl, that's wonderful! Why didn't you mention that before? Congratulations._

 

Daryl feels as weird as he did in the hospital when everybody assumed Sophia was his, earning praise and congratulations for something that wasn't his. But it feels even worse coming from Dale. The man he has known for so long, who saved his sorry ass, who he knows always wanted to have children with his wife but that was never in the cards for them. _The kid ain't...,_ he begins, but he knows telling him the truth right now would just make things complicated and he has a feeling Dale already knows, but doesn't care one way or the other. _Thanks._

 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Daryl forces himself to smile back. _I know it's busy right now and I'm gonna do overtime when I get back._ He's quick to reassure him of that. He sure as hell doesn't mean to be lazy but the doctor said that Carol should take it real easy for a while. Not doing any housework, just resting and focusing on herself and the baby. He wants to help as much as he can, but he can't do that if he's gone all day. _Just need a week or two ta help her an-_

 

Dale lifts his hand to silence him. _Daryl, it's all right. Axel's been wanting to do overtime, anyway. I'm sure we can work this out._

 

Much slower than he would have a few years ago, Dale gets up from his chair, the feet of it dragging over the linoleum floor. The sound it makes is as unpleasant as the bass of the music from next door. Dale seems unfazed by it though, stepping around the desk until he's standing by his side. _You just worry about your family right now._

 

His family. The words send a strange feeling through his body, but he can't deny that he likes the sound of it. He never had a family before in his life and the thought that maybe Carol will allow them to become one is the sweetest dream. _I'm proud of you, son,_ Dale says quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder, his eyes a little distant. _You deserve this._

 

* * *

 

The curtains are drawn on the large window. Outside, the sun is setting, bathing the sky in all soft hues of orange and pink. The blanket of snow that covers the ground shimmers like someone scattered jewels on top of it, a sight that's more beautiful now than it ever was before.

 

Daryl is sitting in the soft chair by the window, Sophia cradles in his arm. Gently, he rocks her back and forth, trying to soothe her.

 

She is so incredibly warm and soft in his arms, unbelievably small. Ten tiny fingers curl and uncurl and her little feet are wrapped in the smallest socks he's ever seen in his life. With the pad of his index finger, he gently nudges the tip of her nose, trails the rosy, petal soft skin of her cheek and ruffles through the tuft of blonde hair on her head. Her eyes are wide open.

 

She may not be crying, but she's fidgeting restlessly in his arms, had been close to crying when he took her from her crib. He keeps his voice down when he speaks to her, mindful not to wake Carol who fell asleep an hour ago after a restless night and day, curled up peacefully on her bed. The machines are finally gone, and so the hospital room is quiet.

 

_Ya gotta sleep, sweetheart,_ he murmurs, running his finger back down the side of her head, securely tucked into the crook of his elbow. _Got a big day tomorrow. You're goin' home._ She makes a throaty little sound and he lifts her up higher against his chest, cradling her there. _Yeah. Shh... Gotta let ya momma sleep._ Cradled against him, she feels so breakable and he only holds on to her tighter. All sorts of fears have already crossed his mind. Accidentally touching her too roughly, dropping her, scaring her. _Ya gonna sleep in ya own bed tomorrow,_ he promises. _'s real nice._

 

Whatever he once said to Carol about buying too much stuff for Sophia now seems ridiculous. This little girl deserve everything in the world and he hopes the nursery he and Carol put together will be enough. That the crib is comfortable and the room warm and the lights not too harsh and the clothes soft. That she'll grow up happy in there, never wishing to be somewhere else.

 

The need to give her all the best and make sure she's warm and safe and happy is all consuming and too much for him to process, even after three days. He sighs, looking down at her with the same old melancholy in his heart. _I ain't sure if ya momma meant what she said, but if she let's me, 'm gonna make sure y'ain't ever gotta be afraid o' nothin'._ The baby doesn't understand the weight of what he's saying, her fidgeting easing up a little at the sound of his voice. It makes him wonder if she recognizes him from when he talked to Carol during her pregnancy, from hearing his voice back then. _I promise ya._

 

Carol hadn't brought up what she said to him in her sleepy state and so he has to assume she forgot. They have cleared up the paternity mistake yesterday when a nurse came in and asked him to sign a form with Carol wide awake and mildly confused. But the real question still lingers.

 

He wants to make sure she grows up happy. It's so easy to picture her as a toddler on wobbly legs playing in the garden, sleeping on the sofa curled up with Dorothy, building a tree house for her in the backyard, birthday parties with big cakes and candles and Christmas mornings with gifts under a decorated tree. It all suddenly seems like something he craves instead of fears, everything he never had he wants for her.

 

_Gonna keep ya safe, you and ya mom._ He silently prays to a god he doesn't believe in that he'll get a chance to prove that he can be the kind of father this girl deserves, the kind of man Carol deserves. Not a man like Ed, who for some reason got the chance to be Carol's husband, to father Sophia. Privileges he never deserved.

 

Sophia begins to make a little whining sound that Daryl recognizes by now, and he knows she's about to start crying. _Shh, sweetheart._

 

_Daryl-_ The sound of his name petrifies him and he stops rocking Sophia, looking up to see Carol staring at them with wide, glistening eyes. Shaken by fear, he wonders how long she's been awake. Suddenly, he feels like he's been caught doing something forbidden, and Hell this is her kid, after all. He's just a guy she's been making out with a few times so what right does he have to be talking to her baby like this? Whatever chance he might have had, he's on the right path of ruining it and-

 

_'m sorry, didn't mean ta-_

 

A knock on the door interrupts him and it's pushed open a second later, a new nurse rushing into the room with a bright smile on her face. _How are we doing today?_ She sounds overly happy and bubbly, oblivious to the moment she just interrupted. Her eyes quickly land on Daryl with Sophia by the window and she theatrically holds a flat hand to her chest. _Aww, look at that,_ she coos. _Little girl's already got her daddy wrapped around her finger._

 

Daryl swallows, his gaze still locked with Carol's. Tears are spilling over and trailing down her cheeks, and he's afraid he scared her. But then, slowly, a smile curls her lips as she wipes a tear from her cheek.

 

If hope ever had a physical form, this is it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a happy, fluffy, angst-free story. But I feel like towards the end, a hint of angst has snuck its way into this and I'm sorry about that. Don't worry, though - these two are almost there, in that happy place I want them to be :)


	25. happy ending

With a steadying hand, he helps Carol out of his truck, making sure she doesn't slip. He'd spent all morning clearing most of her driveway from the snow, shoveling until he'd cleared a path to the front porch. But the ground beneath is still slippery, and so he keeps his hand firmly against the small of her back. She's still a little unsteady on her feet, holding on to the door to balance herself. Too quickly, though, she turns around to reach back into the truck for the car seat.

 

_Lemme carry her. 's too heavy for ya._ He doesn't give her time to try and talk him out of this, already moving around the truck and opening the other door. Sophia is fast asleep, mostly hidden under the fluffy blanket and knitted hat. He tucks the blanket even tighter around her to shield her from the gust of cold air, unbuckling the seat and pulling it out of the truck with a groan.

 

_Thanks,_ Carol smiles, watching him huffing and puffing and groaning when the top of his head hits the roof of the truck.

 

They walk up to her house in silence. One of his hands is pressing into Carol's back, the other carrying Sophia, the seat probably heavier than her. They make slow steps up the porch, and Carol inhales sharply, freezing them both into place.

 

_Y'all right?_ His concern for her hasn't eased one bit, and even though he doesn't admit it he'd have preferred for her to stay in the hospital for a few more days to ensure she's really fine. But she'd been more than eager to go home, nearly shedding tears when he asked her if she's sure. _Hurtin'?_

 

She offers him a tight-lipped smile, waving her hand and dismissing her pain. _It's okay._ Knowing there's no point in arguing and that some degree of pain is probably normal, Daryl moves to unlock the door and they hurry inside. There, everything looks vastly different than when Carol had been here last. He tidied up the mess they left behind the day of the storm, made sure to turn the heating up earlier so it would be warm for them. Last night, he drove all the way to the store to buy a big and fucking expensive bouquet of flowers after being hit by the idea she might like them. It towers on the table now, all vibrant colors and soft petals.

 

_Oh._ The sound that slips from her lips is soft and surprised, and Carol lingers by the open door, taking in the room with curious eyes. Eventually, she points at the flowers. _Did you...?_ He nods, blushing slightly, and ends up looking down at his boots. But she doesn't let him get away with his moment of shyness, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his cheek. _Thank you._

 

The smile that curls his lips comes naturally, as most of them do these days. Carefully, he sets Sophia down who is still fast asleep and unfazed by her new surroundings. Quietly, he shuts the door. _Bought some food, too,_ he explains. He'd stocked up her fridge, read all about what she should be eating to keep up her energy and to help her with her breastfeeding. _An' washed all them towels. Had ta throw some out, though. Blood wouldn't wash out._ He felt bad for throwing out her stuff without asking, even read up about tips to clean blood stains, but it had just been too much to salvage anything.

 

_You didn't have to do all that._

 

He just shrugs. Maybe he didn't. But if he didn't, she'd be here in a cold house with a month's worth of laundry and spoiled food - and a baby to take care of all by herself. Carol doesn't press the matter, kneeling down to take the blanket off Sophia. Slowly so she won't wake her, she tugs the little hat from her head, the fluffy mess of her hair sticking up in all directions.

 

_Wanna help._ It's the blunt truth, it's what he's been doing from the start, after all. From that day she tried dragging boxes into this house. He watches as Carol slowly unwraps the baby like a present, amazed by how delicate and tender she is. _Carol?_ he croaks after a minute, his heart pounding in the confines of his rib cage. He feels like he's gonna be sick right here and now, but he also knows he has to be brave enough to ask. _Been wondering if..._ As his words fade into a nervous and tense silence, she rises back up to her feet, unzipping her own coat while her forehead creases in curiosity. _Maybe I could-_

 

_Yes,_ she blurts, startling him into silence and then instantly blushing. _I mean..._ Her gaze falls down to her own muddy boots, and she clears her throat. _I want you to stay here for a while. If that's what you meant._

 

Daryl tries swallowing the lump in his throat, surprise and disbelief dancing around in his head. He can't help but wonder if everything he feels is tattooed on his damn face. _It was,_ he confirms hoarsely, and Carol releases a shaky breath followed by a relieved smile. Shaking off his own nervousness, he takes a step towards her, the tips of their boots touching and his hand finding her. _That really all right? Don't wanna push in or any-_

 

The grasp of her fingers entwined with his tightens, silencing him before she even speaks. _Daryl. I want you here,_ she says quietly, leaning in a little more, enough for her nose to nudge his. Her words feel like warm honey. _I really do._ When her soft lips press into his, he responds instantly, letting the warmth of it wrap around him, melting away all doubts he has for now.

 

He'd been thinking about this for days. All he wants is to help as best as he can, and staying with her for a little while seemed like the most effective way of doing that. He doesn't expect anything. Will sleep on the couch if she doesn't want him in her bed. He just wants to be here for them both. Yesterday, he even packed a bag in case she said yes, grumbling at Dorothy who'd decided that that bag was the perfect new spot to sleep in.

 

Now, he feels a weight lifting off his shoulders.

 

* * *

 

Daryl can't remember a more perfect moment. They are laying on Carol's bed on their sides, Sophia nestled between them, sleeping with even breaths. _She's so beautiful._ He can't stop himself from murmuring the raspy words, taking in the sight of the tiny baby and how sweet she looks. His calloused finger trails over her wrinkly palm.

 

Carol smiles almost dream-like, burrowing deeper into the pillow with an exhausted sigh. _She is._ Although it's still cold outside the sun is unhindered by clouds in the powder blue sky, rays of light shining into her bedroom. They illuminate Carol in glorious light while his body keeps Sophia in the shade.

 

There are deep circles under Carol's eyes, and she still looks paler than usual. With a trembling hand, he reaches out, resting it on her waist.

 

_You should get some sleep. I can keep an eye on her._

 

She shakes her head softly. _No, it's okay. I don't want to sleep. This is..._ Her hand comes to rest on Sophia's belly, and Carol's smile doesn't waver. _This is nice._

 

_Yeah,_ he breathes, drinking in the moment.

 

They are both quiet for a long time and he's surprised to feel rested, peaceful and complete for the first time in his life. If he could, he'd freeze the moment. Bottle it for darker times.

 

_Daryl?_ He looks up from Sophia's rosy face, his thumb moving in circles over Carol's waist. Her lip briefly slips between her teeth, a nervous habit she doesn't show often. _You wanted to talk. About us?_

 

He does, badly. But now that the moment is right he's suddenly afraid. _Just...,_ he mutters. _I just wanted to know what we- who ya want me to..._

 

Words fail him and he doesn't know how to convey what he feels. To his great relief, Carol seems to understand him despite his incoherent mumbling. _I want you right here,_ she says determinedly but with her voice noticeably breaking a little. Her hand reaches out to touch his cheek, her body slowly inching closer. That hasn't changed. Not one bit.

 

He swallows deftly, feeling the warmth of her breath on his lips. In this moment, he wants to kiss her so badly, feels like her words are a dream. Then, after a blissful minute of silence, her eyes begin to water and she looks down. He does the same, taking in small eyes framed by long lashes fluttering open slowly and tiny fingers reaching out for thin air.

 

_I wish she was yours,_ Carol whispers hoarsely, her voice finally breaking as a tear spills over and trails down her cheek. Her hand slips back down to rest against her daughter's chest, and Daryl moves to wipe the tear away.

 

Her words only make the familiar melancholy simmering inside of him worse. Everything in him aches for the same. _Me too,_ he rasps, barely able to hold his own tears at bay for a loss he never truly suffered.

 

Carol smiles through her tears, blinking them away, some of them getting caught in her lashes. There is curiosity in the way she looks at him, and almost a hint of fear. _Maybe... Maybe she can be ours?_

 

His breath gets stuck in his throat, eyes growing wide. _Ya want that?_ He can't even begin to imagine how much trust it must take her to say that, and his heart stutters in response.

 

She still looks frightened, maybe even a little unsure about what she said, but she doesn't retract her words. _Do_ you _?_ she asks instead, wavering in her determination.

 

He cradles her cheek in his palm, leans in closer and presses his lips to hers instead of saying something. The movement strains his neck, but he doesn't give a damn. _More than anything,_ he breathes into the kiss, feeling her body shiver. Slowly, he pulls away to look down between them at the half awake, squirming baby. He rests his hand on top of Carol's, applying just the slightest hint of pressure. _Both o' ya. Wanna be with ya both every day._

 

After that, he pauses, wondering if this is the right time to say what lingers on his lips. But he quickly realizes he needs her to truly understand, and he can't hold back the words any longer. _I love ya._

 

He's never said those words to anyone before - never _felt_ like this before - and this time she is awake and it counts. Her eyes widen just a little and her lips part on a silent gasp, soft and pink. _I-_

 

_Y'ain't gotta say it back if y'ain't ready,_ he quickly interrupts her before she says something she might regret later.

 

He longs for her to say it back. But even more than that he needs her to understand that he doesn't need to hear it now. That the trust she showed him is enough, more than enough. He doesn't want to pressure her. After all, they both have more than enough issues.

 

But he never fell in love only to have his heart and soul crushed, he never gave his trust only for it to be bruised and battered - his own troubles run much deeper, preventing him from ever feeling something remotely close to love or trust until now. He wants her to take her time, as much as she needs. Losing her trust would be worse than her never feeling ready to say the words back.

 

Carol smiles then, stealing another kiss as the sunlight sparkles in her glistening eyes.

 

* * *

 

A high-pitched cry tears Daryl from his sleep. Grumbling, he turns onto his back, slightly bumping into Carol by his side. Her warm hand rests on his hip, the tingle of her touch radiating down his side.

 

_I'll go,_ he groans as the crying continues, rubbing his face. His heart still beats fast after having been torn from sleep for the fourth time this night, and one glance at the clock tells him it's just barely past midnight.

 

When he starts to sit up, Carol's hand on his hip tightens. _Daryl, you already-_

 

_Don't mind._ He really doesn't, is already awake anyway so he might as well go get Sophia. It's the least he can do, ain't like he can feed her, after all. Not yet anyway. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet pressing into the soft rug.

 

_Thank you,_ Carol whispers, running her hand fleetingly down his back. The gentle touch sends a shiver down his spine. With a hum, he gets out of bed.

 

Sophia is wailing on her crib, screaming bloody murder, tossing around and around. Gently, he picks her up, weighing no more than a feather.

 

_Hey, sweetheart,_ he whispers, cradling her against his chest and rocking her slightly. _You hungry? Come 'ere._ Carefully, he tucks her against him even further, cradling her head in his palm.

 

As he makes his way back, he gently rocks her to a silent tune, nuzzling his nose against her soft hair. _Shhh. 's fine,_ he whispers, amazed at the unique scent of her.

 

Carol is already sitting up in bed, her head against the headboard. The bedside lamp is switched on, offering just enough light not to strain their eyes. _Here._ He hands Sophia to her, and Carol easily cradles her against her breast, starting to pull down her shirt.

 

Daryl quietly slips back into bed - _his_ side and that feels like the greatest privilege. He mirrors Carol's position against the headboard, watching as Sophia begins to suck away greedily.

 

_I feel like a cow,_ Carol groans, her eyes closed.

 

He snorts a little at that, nudging her shoulder slightly with his. _Nah. Don't look nothing like one of them cows._

 

It makes her laugh slightly, her body trembling against his. After a minute, she turns to rest her head against his shoulder and he wraps his arm around her, holding her close.

 

_Thanks,_ she chuckles, humming contently when he begins to draws circles on the exposed skin of her upper arm. His own eyes are quickly drifting shut.

 

It's only their first night but he's already exhausted.

 

* * *

 

_Be careful._ His entire body is tense where he leans against the door frame, ready to jump forward should this go wrong.

 

_I am._ Carol sounds a little annoyed with him, kneeling down on the floor where Sophia is laying on her blanket. Dorothy is curled up in Carol's arms, already eyeing the baby curiously with her big, gray eyes.

 

_Don't think this is a good idea,_ he mumbles. He'd agreed to bring Dorothy over when Carol suggested it, not wanting to go back and forth to feed her and feeling more than a little sorry for leaving her on her own so much. But he'd rather keep her away from Sophia for a little while longer - at least until she's not so damn fragile anymore.

 

Carol turns to look at him, gently curling her fingers through Dorothy's fur. _You don't trust her at all._

 

That's not really true, but he just shrugs. _'round me I do._

 

Carol shakes her head at him, slowly setting Dorothy down on the blanket and keeping one hand on her. All the while gently petting her back. _There, look,_ she coos, one hand coming down to cradle Sophia's head. _That's Sophia._

 

Dorothy starts to sniff Sophia's legs, a rather dazed and confused expression on her face. Lithely, she takes slow steps towards the baby. _Watch out for them claws, they're-_

 

_Daryl, I know,_ Carol whispers, her eyes fixed on the two. _It's okay, look._ Dorothy carefully nuzzles her nose against Sophia's belly and she makes a throaty sound in response. Carol leans down slowly to press a kiss to Dorothy's head, mindful not to startle the cat. _You can look out for her._

 

Daryl can't help but bark out a laughter at that, easing up a bit. _Just wait 'til ya start feedin' her actual food. She don't act all sweet 'round food._ She'd stolen his food more than once, staring at him with piercing eyes whenever he ate. Envy plainly written on her pretty face.

 

Carol chuckles, still watching as Dorothy reaches out with a small paw, her claws securely tucked in, nudging Sophia's chest. The little girl is pretty much oblivious to the attention she's receiving. _She likes her._ Carol has tears brimming in her eyes, smiling at him with glowing cheeks. He walks over slowly, sitting down crossed legged by her side.

 

Dorothy turns around then, looking at him like he just appeared out of nowhere and meowing softly. _What'ya lookin' at me for?_ he asks with a chuckle, reaching out his hands towards her. _Come 'here._

 

She walks over to him like he trained her and jumps up onto his lap. Over and over she kneads her tiny paws against his thighs, sending prickles of pain through him. But she purrs and nuzzles her face into his belly, making up for the pain.

 

Carol smiles, watching them. _She likes you more._

 

* * *

 

_Oh my God, she's so sweet._ Lori is slowly rocking Sophia in her arms, smiling brightly and full of adoration. Carol blushes almost instantly, not quite able to hide the expression of pride, and he loves seeing that on her. Perched on the edge of the couch, she watches her daughter in her friend's arms, and Daryl watches them. _Carol, I'm so happy for you._

__  
  
Thank you.

  
  
Rick leans over the back of the couch to get a proper glimpse of the baby, too, Carl balanced on his hip.

 

The whole house smells like the cake that Carol insisted on baking after Lori had asked to come over and meet the baby. Daryl had tried to talk her out of the hassle but instead ended up driving to the store with Carol and a crying baby in the backseat of his truck.

  
  
_I'm so glad you're both fine,_ Lori continues. _Daryl told us what happened. You must've been so scared._

 

Nervously, Daryl clears his throat. He does not miss the way Carol eyes him with mild confusion, and he suddenly wishes he'd shared this bit of information with her. He'd gone over to Lori's house a few days ago to ask for help with prepping the house while Carol was in the hospital, and that first day after Sophia was born, completely at loss about what to put in her bag that she'd sent him to get.

  
  
_It wasn't how I thought it would be, no,_ Carol admits with a slight smile, reaching out to take Daryl's hand. For a second, he tenses a little at the unexpected public display of affection, but when her thumb brushes over the back of his hand, some of that tension quickly eases. _But Daryl did the best he could._

  
  
Lori smiles up at him then, making him squirm on the spot. She shows him some mercy, though, by quickly leaning closer to Carol and not-so-secretly whispering to her. _I think Rick would've passed out._ Rick dismisses that with a snorting laughter, causing Carl to giggle like he got paid for it. They all burst out laughing for a moment before Lori speaks again. _You got lucky._

  
  
Daryl watches with a lump in his throat when Carol nods, and he meets her smile with one of his own. If anyone here got lucky it's him. _I did,_ she confirms, more to him than anyone else.

  
  
Lori eyes them for a moment, and he feels like a deer in the headlights when her gaze flickers down to their entwined fingers. _So, are you two...?_ she begins to ask, trailing off into silence until Carol nods. Even though he's been living in her house for three days this confirmation in front of her friends feels like a turning point. He's not ready to call them _his_ friends yet, but he doesn't mind the company. Isn't bothered by the way Carl is chatting up a mighty unimpressed Dorothy, or the way Lori cradles Sophia against herself.

 

_Good._ Lori reaches out to touch Carol's arm, looking more pleased than he expected. It looks genuine, too, and that surprises him most. _You both deserve this._

 

Daryl looks up, his eyes meeting Rick's. The other man nods at him with a tight-lipped smile, and Daryl nods back. Some of the weight that's wearing them down seems to lift.

 

_If this isn't a happy ending I don't know what is, don't you think?_ Lori asks with a bright smile, her finger caught in Sophia's solid grasp and Daryl watches the two of them, feels the warmth of Carol's hand around his own.

 

He couldn't agree more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize for the absolutely cheesy title, cheesy cow reference, and cheesy last few paragraphs. That just sort of happened.
> 
> One more chapter to go, then this story is over :/


	26. the dream

Daryl jolts awake with a gasp, sitting upright in bed. Stars dance in front of his eyes as his heart pounds against his ribs, and it takes him a minute to adjust to the darkness of his bedroom.

 

Taking deep breaths, he tries to recall the dream he had, the one that woke him.

 

It had been good. More than good, he still remembers that. It had made him feel the kind of bone-deep warmth that so few things in life could. It had wrapped around him like a blanket on a chilly autumn day. Tasted like iced tea in the blistering heat of summer.

 

It had felt almost out of reach, too good to be true.

 

But in the end, he'd lost it all. It had slipped through his fingers, shattered like glass. The beauty of it only made the loss harder to bear, turning into a nightmare that tore him from his sleep.

 

With a sigh, he runs his hands over the cold, ruffled sheets. His gaze wanders to the window, a sliver in the curtains revealing the night sky. The silhouette of the tree outside sways a little in the wind. In the dark, it's impossible to tell, but he knows the leafs are slowly beginning to fade from green to the warm hues of red, orange and yellow. With autumn around the corner, the world is ready to change.

 

With every passing second, whatever debris of the dream he could remember quickly fades from his mind. All he has to prove it was real is the thrumming of his pulse and the clammy palms of his hands.

 

_Did I wake you?_

 

He looks up, squinting as the bedroom door is pushed open and the hallway light blinds him. Carol quickly switches off the light and shuts the door, moving towards the bed with quick, quiet steps. The mattress dips a little when she slides under the thick blanket, and Daryl lifts his arm for her to curl against his side. A little bounce paired with a quiet meow delays his answer, and he huffs when Dorothy curls up by his feet.

 

The warm weight of her is familiar, and it had been just like this when he fell asleep earlier. Loyal to a fault, and curious enough for a whole litter of cats, she probably followed Carol to the bathroom.

 

_Nah,_ he replies quietly as Carol rests her head in the crook of his shoulder, her finger splaying over his still thrumming heart. _Y'all right? Feelin' sick again?_

 

Slowly, he draws his fingers up and down her bare arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind that makes the corners of his mouth curl up. Carol shakes her head, nuzzling further into him.

 

_Just had to pee._ The long curls of her hair tickle his chin, and the warmth of her breath soaks through his thin shirt when she speaks. _Glad the puking part is over,_ she sighs, slipping her leg over his, her cold foot pressing against his calf. He shudders briefly but ignores it.

 

Slipping his free hand down between them, he nods. He's glad, too. Had hated seeing her bend over the toilet with pale cheeks, unable to do much more than run his hand up and down her back and hold the curls of her hair back where they cascaded around her shoulders.

 

His palm comes to rest against her stomach, the swell of it more noticeable now than it was a few weeks over when she'd stumbled out of bed over and over, riddled by morning sickness that plagued her all day and night.

 

It's not as easy to hide now, even under wide clothes. But he's sick of hiding it anyway, and they're well past her first trimester now. But Carol had been reluctant to share the news, wanting to enjoy this time – those precious first few months of excitement that she wasn't allowed to bask in with Sophia.

 

_Why are you awake?_ she asks after a minute of silence, propping her chin on his chest and looking up at him. The moonlight glimmers in her eyes, the ivory of her skin looking smooth and soft.

 

_Dream,_ he mumbles, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. All the while, his fingers draw gentle circles around her belly button, the tips of his fingers edging just slightly under the waistband of her shorts to feel the swell. It's so precious to him, too hard to believe any of this is real.

 

_Want to talk about it?_ Her hand reaches up to palm his cheek, so gentle. But he just shakes his head, nudges the tip of his nose against hers.

 

_Don't remember._

 

* * *

 

_Sophia, don't run off too far!_

 

It's a warm day, the sunlight basking the clearing in a warm light. The many wildflowers that still grow in the rich grass are vibrant – yellow and purple and pink, white and blues mingled among the warmer shades. But Sophia is the most vibrant. Her red dress billows around her as she jumps barefooted through the grass towards the line of trees that circle the clearing, her blonde hair bouncing up and down.

 

Even from this distance, Daryl can hear her humming a cheerful tune. There's a bouquet of flowers in her hand, one tucked behind her ear, a string of them around her neck.

 

A thick, scratchy blanket is the only thing between him and the grass, and where he sits on it crossed-legged, the sun shining down on him, Daryl tries to soak it all in. The last year has been busy, filled with long nights and early mornings. Ever since he opened the bike shop, he hadn't been able to spend as much time at home as he would have liked. But it was all worth it in the end, and now moments like these are becoming more frequent again.

 

Carol's hand is curled around his, her head resting on his shoulder. His arm is wrapped around her, the tips of his fingers just barely grazing the slight swell of her stomach. Sophia doesn't know about her little brother or sister yet, oblivious to these last few months of having them all to herself. They'd have told her, but she's too much of a chatterbox to keep anything a secret for longer than a day.

 

He takes another sip of lemonade, fresh and cool, rubbing his fingers in circles across the soft fabric of Carol's dress. She hums contently, smelling of the cherries they'd eaten, and Daryl knows he could taste them on her lips if he were to kiss her now.

 

Sophia's giggles carry across the clearing – the best sound in the world – as she makes her way back to them.

 

_Mommy, look!_ she says out of breath, eyes beaming with excitement as she holds out the bouquet. Most of the flowers still have leafs and earth on them, but it doesn't matter.

 

_They're really pretty, honey,_ Carol says softly, trailing her fingertips delicately along a yellow flower petal. Sophia nods enthusiastically, nearly tripping over the picnic basket that still boasts cake and sandwiches and cookies even though they've already eaten plenty.

 

_They're for you._ Carol takes them from Sophia, their little girl smiling so brightly, bouncing up and down on her heels. _Can we come here again tomorrow?_

 

Carol sighs, sitting up straight and gently putting the flowers down on the blanket. _No, sweetie,_ she says softly, and her words instantly wipe the smile off Sophia's face. _Daddy has to work, remember?_

 

Soft, rosy lips turn into a well-mastered frown, and she turns to him. _Please?_

 

It kills him to say no to her, something he never really learned how to do. It caused many a discussion with Carol – and he still vividly remembers the fire in her eyes when he almost brought home a puppy a few months ago. _Next weekend, sweetheart,_ he replies, and Sophia sighs. _Promise._

 

She's reasonable beyond her years for reasons he doesn't understand. Her face lights up and before he knows it, two skinny arms wrap around him and she presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek. _Love you, daddy. You're the best._

 

He'll never tire of hearing it, rubbing his hand up and down her back. _Love ya, too._ Sophia is already twirling away from them again before he even gets the words out. He chuckles, shaking his head ever so slightly as he watches her dancing – carefree and happy.

 

In moments like there, he still often thinks back to his own childhood. Many demons he has laid to rest over the years, but some still raise their heads sometimes. He doesn't have many memories from when he was four years old, as old as Sophia is now. Most of them have blurred over time. Maybe he was happier than he remembers being – maybe the few memories he has were tainted by what followed after.

 

But he knows for sure he was never this happy, never this loved.

 

A delicate hand finds his, fingers entwining easily. He looks down at Carol's pale skin against his own, darker and rougher. Cherishes the slight pressure. Her body is warm when she leans in, her lips so impossibly soft when she presses them to his cheek.

 

_I love you, too,_ she breathes, sending a rush of warmth through him that not even the sun could ever dream of.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it. We've come to the end of this story. I have to admit that I was more than ready to finish this and move on (maybe I have some commitment issues). But I'm also sad to let this go - I love these two a lot, and I love their little family even more. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the support on this story. Writing fluff is not my favorite thing in the world but you guys made me feel like I was doing something right. I hope this ending makes you happy, even though I know some of you wanted the story to continue for a while longer. But this is it, this is where I see them - this is where I want to leave them.
> 
> Hugs to you all!

**Author's Note:**

> So, I initially wrote this to be part of a drabble series. But I enjoyed writing it so much that I figured I might want to continue it and explore the idea a bit further. It won't be a super long story, but a small dose of fluff can go a long way, right? 
> 
> (I could definitely use some fluff)
> 
> The fact that this was written to be part of a drabble series is also the reason why this is a lot shorter than my usual chapters. That will probably change.


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